Part of The Round Table Chronicles
'So, you are the one we call the Caraval. The Beautiful,' an older, hoarse voice rang out in the Pict language, and even though she had never met him, Bedwyr knew immediately who it was. 'A woman warrior that drinks ale with kings and battles the fates.' There was a rustle and a shift, as more Woads appeared out of the brush, stepping closer to her, their dark eyes never wavering from their trapped prey. 'I however will call you little Morrí gan. The Raven that follows Death.'
Their bond was legendary, passed down from generation to generation until fact became fiction and the scholars failed to remember - failed to record - that long ago, Isolde went by a very different name to follow her king - and her hawk.
Tristan and the Lure of Caraval
