She said there were markings that told direction. Apparently all Britain was honeycombed by these ancient passageways. Those who knew the secrets could creep around like wily moles. It was a pleasure I would pass on anytime. We ate dried wayfood, slept now and again. I was too weary to worry about courting her. That could wait until we found a haymow. Or a bed. Ah, a bed. What a sweet idea. But I gradually lost focus on that, which commonly happens when nothing much happens until, at last, you just hope the subject won’t come up again … At least we’d run out of hot chambers and magic swords. We chatted a bit. I found out a few things, among others that might have been lies. I don’t say they were lies, mind. She hated Arthur. But I knew that, though I didn’t know how much. I didn’t hate him, but I didn’t (as she knew) love him either. She felt that Modred, her odd son, was the rightful heir to the throne. I didn’t care. We chatted. Modred represented the old ruling blood.
What do You think about Blood And Dreams: Lost Years II?
