Time had not been kind to the cobblestone wall. Mounds of moss broke out from betwixt the stones as the earth sought to reclaim the rocks for its domain. The knight studied from underneath his tree, where the roots sprang out of the earth like fingers of a buried corpse, the path the wall walked - or had once walked - besides a road of roman design that cut through the small woodland. Nature had yet to take back what the Romans had taken from them, the sturdy design of the Latins still held sway over the land. Their roads still valued for the traders to ride upon, for armies to march upon. Roman villas, a luxury to the few and a fantasy to many others and gods, old Roman gods still wandered in places. Look hard enough and one could find the old Roman in the new temples of Christ. Become lost far enough in the woods and one would inevitably stumble upon a shrine to some god or being long forgotten made by past conquerors who's essence still lingered in this new age; this new Briton.

But it was the wall that had the knight curious. He studied it for some time, his eyes tracing its shape, estimating the density, guessing at the strength - he guessed not very, as the earth was allowed to so easily take it back - what curiosity that struck him was why someone would build a wall out here. He pondered this question to himself for a time, leaning upon the pommel of his blade, the tip of the scabbard planted into the ground for support. Was it to protect against bandits? To keep the land back further encroachment? Did those who decided to build the cobblestone wall intend to claim this plot of land for themselves before some unseen importance forced them to abandon their desire. Whatever the reason, the knight knew it was a question with no answer.

He angled his head to one side, his helmet swayed ever so slightly upon his head as he looked up at the sky. A mixture of grey blankets and morning red shifted above. The night's rain had passed in his sleep and the air was fresh, the mud a thick dark having had their fill of water. This would be his last rest before Camelot. He took to estimating the time it would take, with his swift pace and knowledge of the land, within five hours the last fragments of his journey would take him. He began to ponder on the squire that had been tasked to find him. The squire, as the saying went, had drawn the short straw when he was tasked to deliver the message. For the knight owned no land for which to rest upon, had no levies, had no entourage. (He didn't even have a horse). The squire rode to the nearest town that the knight had last sent word from, charting a course that gave him more witness to the world outside of Camelot than what the poor boy expected. Town after town, hamlet after hamlet, nobody ever questioned the rider's intentions - it was unbefitting to do so from anyone in the King's Court - but it had been a hunter that aided the boy with finding the knight. The hunter who in turn owed the knight a favor, and felt this was best to serve it.

'Sir Mael?' The squire asked, his face tired from the days of riding. The knight at first did not respond, the curiosity of the cairn in which the knight, the hunter, and the squire stood within still had his attention. The boy waited for the knight to finish debating with himself before whatever argument he was having was over, upon which he finally gave the boy his attention. There was a moment of doubt in the boy, a brief debate of his own for if the hunter had tricked him, he could not imagine any knight within the King Arthur's court looking as disgraceful as the man before him and yet, there he stood.

'My lord,' The squire stated, a hesitance to his voice. The fear that this was an indeed a mistake, or worse, an imposture, lingered on the soul. 'The Lord Regent requires your immediate return to Camelot. It is of the utmost importance.'

'The Lord Regent?' The knight parroted. He weighed the words with importance. 'Very well, I shall set off forthwith. I thank you for tracking me down, I understand it would not have been easy. So allow me to apologise.'

'No need, my lord. I did as my Lord Regent asked of me.' The squire said, watching the man pass by him. He watched as the man gave his thanks to the hunter, who grumbled something intelligible, the squire watched with uncertainty as the man began to walk in the direction he came. The squire chased after him. 'My lord, you [i]are[/i] Sir Mael of Cornwall, correct? It would be most improper for you to claim otherwise.'

The knight, or, man who claimed to be a knight stopped. 'Tell me, do you know of me by any other names?' The knight asked of the squire. The boy squirmed as he questioned his position on answering. There was no threat to his words, no hint or warning or intent to harm, so with a hard swallow, the squire answered. 'The Hedge Knight, my lord.' 

The Hedge Knight smiled. 'Then I am who you seek.'

Mael cast his idle thoughts to one side and finally stood. He rolled up his belongings within the thick square of cloth he used to keep himself warm. Tied the ends with wise experience, wrapped a piece of leather around each end and threw it over his shoulder. He stretched his body, the taut of his muscles signalled their awake. Finally, he grabbed his sword, with one hand, letting sheath rest on his shoulder, he began the walk to Camelot.

'Five hours?' He said to himself, the sun began to filter through the trees, a golden haze before him. 'I can make it before that.'