Falcon's Beginning

Sorry its so small...again...

Not mine! So no telling tales! (well, the plot and some characters are mine, but thats it.)

Chapter 9- Taken

Falcon rode quickly and warily, keeping an eye out for sudden movement, willing her horse onwards up the incline. The cold air bit at her face, turning her delicate features a shocking alabaster. ‘Was I too harsh?’ She thought, frowning slightly, thinking pensively. ‘He won’t be that bothered, surely?’ Her mind reassured. The top of the incline neared, and Falcon tensed, seeing a flash of light in the trees at the edge of the ridge over the road. Was that a sword catching the light? Taking no chances, the warrior drew her sword, feeling a stoic reassurance in the leather wrapped grip. Slowing her horse, she kept on at a steady, slow pace, keeping to the edge of the road, so as not to draw too much attention to herself. Hoping fervently that she was not already spotted, Falcon dismounted, slinking into the trees, heading towards the area where she had seen the movement. As she drew nearer, Falcon could hear a chinking noise. Eyes narrowing, she edged further forward. A flash caught her eye, and there, hung upon a branch over the road with a red strip of tunic, was a dagger. Lowering her sword in confusion, Falcon strode forwards, letting her guard down. Suddenly, there was a blow to her head, and suddenly, Falcon didn’t see anything but black

Tristan rode silently, occasionally flicking his gaze up to his hawk, which had been hovering over the ridge where Falcon was for a while. Outwardly, he was the dangerous scout, face blank, eyes watchful. Inwardly, he was a wreck. Falcon was alone up there, and something would happen to her. He knew it. Arthur wouldn’t listen when he elected to go after her, saying that Gawain would be able to take his place. Cursing silently, Tristan swept an eye over the road ahead: Clear.
A piercing cry rang out, and he knew.
Something had happened.

“Arthur!” Tristan called, riding straight to his commander. “Something happened to Falcon!” Lancelot frowned, sceptical.
“How do you know?” He asked, urging his horse forwards. Tristan looked desperate, an emotion deeply uncharacteristic of him. Arthur nodded, “The Hawk?
Gawain, Galahad, Gareth and Bors, ride up to find her, everyone else, including you, Tristan, with me to the end of the pass road. If the deserters have captured her, we can head them off there.” Desperately, Tristan opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur raised a hand.
“No. We need you at the other end.” The Roman Commander looked to his other knights, who swung their steeds into action. “MOVE!” Bellowed Bors, riding at a full gallop. The company split ways, all of them terrified for the scout woman.

“Wakey, wakey!” Snarled a whiny voice, splitting Falcon’s pounding skull. Grogginess threatened to render her unconscious again, until a sudden, sharp cold brought her awake with a vengeance. “YOU BASTARDS! YOU FUCKING SONS OF WHORES!” Screamed Falcon from her position in the stream, soaked and aching. The roman deserters chuckled among themselves, watching the woman struggle to her feet. Falcon looked about, and, seeing that there was no one behind her, smiled smugly. Turning, she ran, her limbs screaming in protest. “No, woman!” Called a voice behind her, as Falcon’s wrist was grabbed, and she was lifted bodily, swung over one shoulder, and carried back in the opposite direction. Snarling, Falcon reached for a dagger at her waist, before realising with some sadness, that these Romans were not as stupid as to have left her armed. Instead, she balled her fists together, lifted them high, and smashed them into her captor’s lower back. The man cursed and toppled, serving only to crush Falcon’s lower half under his torso. Reaching out to the nearest rock, Falcon gripped it, gasping in pain as a booted foot stamped down on her wrist, trapping her hand.
“You’re not getting away, woman.”

Ok, trying to write with writers block is horrible. Feedback, please! I need to know what you think.