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Perhaps I’d slept for less time than I thought. I’d been lying by Draven thinking for what had felt like hours.

Lancelet disappeared, the tent flap falling back into place, and I quickly pulled clothes on.

I would let Draven sleep, I decided. While I checked on Gawain. I’d bring him some breakfast if his watch wasn’t over.

Dawn’s light was spilling timidly over the valley as I walked through the quiet camp. I pulled my cloak tighter around myself as the chill morning air greeted my senses.

The dew-laden grass was soft beneath my boots as I moved between rows of tents towards the spot Gawain was keeping watch at the edge of the camp near the treeline.

But when I reached the place he was supposed to be, no one was there.

Assuming he was strolling the perimeter, I decided to take up my own position, holding his place for him until he returned.

A meadow lay just beyond the camp, between the rows of tents and the treeline. I turned towards it, enjoying the feel of the cool breeze whispering through my hair. As I did, a flash of movement near the edge of the forest caught my eye.

Gawain was standing in the field, close to where the trees began, his figure cast in shadows.

As I watched, he stepped into the light, his hair glowing orange and crimson.

My breath caught. There was someone beside him.

A woman was emerging from the trees. Even from a distance, she stood like a specter of beauty, her silken gown shimmering in the soft morning light. Her hair, a mesmerizing blend of rich black and deep velvety blue, cascaded in silky waves down her back.

As I watched, wondering who she could be, the woman extended her hand and held out a small, golden object to Gawain.

It radiated, glowing like a tiny beacon of celestial light. For a moment, I was as transfixed as Gawain, staring at the object, whatever it was, so glowing and full of allure.

Then Gawain raised the object to his lips.

“Gawain, no!” I screamed.

Gawain paused and looked towards me, his face shifting into surprise then delight, he smiled radiantly. “It’s all right, Morgan,” he called. “It’s beautiful. A beautiful gift.”

And then Gawain swallowed the gift he’d been given.

I sprinted forward into the field, panic surging through me as swiftly as understanding.

But it was too late.

The woman turned towards me, a smile on her lips. “A gift, Sister.” Her voice was lilting and melodious. Like Orcades’s had been. “From our father.”

I stopped a few feet away as Gawain’s entire body began to tremble. Shudders rippled through him as the ghastly metamorphosis my sister had induced took hold.

His skin took on a sickly pallor. A familiar greenish hue. His features began to sharpen. Eyes lost their luster as an unholy shadow eclipsed their life and spark.

His limbs convulsed, undergoing a twisted reconstruction that defied nature itself.

A choked sound came from my throat as Gawain’s fingers elongated into gnarled claws and a guttural snarl escaped from his lips.

“Gawain.”

I whirled around to the source of the familiar voice.

“Draven,” I said desperately, lifting my hands to try to shield him, knowing it was far too late. “Draven, no.” A sob escaped my lips. “Draven. Please. Don’t look.”

“Don’t worry, Morgan,” my nameless sister called from behind me. “There’s enough for all of your little friends.”

I ignored her.