"Ah, my friends! This, to the Anuirean heart is the original unspoilt woodland! Cerilia unmarred by axe, flame and battle, as it was long ago," he called cheerfully to the party as they rode in.
The young knight visibly relaxed as they entered the depths of the forest, though he did not drop his guard. Indeed, as they stopped to water the horses in a crystalline stream a few miles in he took a moment to redress in mail, eschewing the garb of the common soldier that had disguised them and bearing his hawk-and-tower heraldry proudly. Still, he looked more eager than anxious as they mounted up and continued their flight, his gaze scanning the emerald shadows and dew-jewelled clearings more as if he was awaiting and old friend than fearing enemies.
The sound of an approaching wagon was unexpected; few vehicles plied tracks so narrow and root-strewn this deep in the greenwood. Lancaelad spurred his horse forward, shield on one arm, lance resting at his other side – not pointed threateningly, but close at hand. It was clear he meant to challenge and question the wagon driver, and would give up any hope of subtle passage unless interrupted by his companions.