Tristan left the gamblers' tent and took a deep breath of the fresh cool air. The sinking temperature didn't matter to her so much. She'd always run rather warm, and her father said it was from the touch of hellfire that made her so brazen. Truth was, she got it from her father, and running hot was a family trait that was useful in life in a coastal castle prone to taking the brunt of hurricanes from the rest of Britannia.

While not cold, she was quite hungry by now. The vigorous activity of the day was catching up to her, and aside from stiffening shoulders Tristan was starting to dream of roast boar and potatoes. She made her way swiftly back up through the various tents and pavilions toward the feast area. Perhaps her she would find young Kay to congratulate. She hadn't really met Sir Ector before, and she was a little wary of the old man's reaction to her gender, but he wouldn't be the first knight to send a sour glance her way.