Tristan awoke to the peaceful sound of a nearby spring. Abruptly he sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face to clear it of sleep.

Darkness was descending on Badon Hill; in the gloaming, he saw villagers milling about still retrieving the dead and wounded Britons who fought alongside the knights against the Saxons.

Pushing himself to his feet, Tristan staggered to a tree. His legs felt weak and tingly. He cast a brief glance around the battlefield, wondering where the others were. Slowly and with great care, he made his way to the keep.

As he rounded the corner and the tavern came into view, he saw Jols sitting at a table, looking grim.

Must still be reeling from the battle, Tristan thought to himself.

"You fought well today, Jols," he said.

The other man ignored him and placed his head in his hands. Leaving Jols to his ale, Tristan made his way to the greathall to see Arthur. He would be leaving within the week to return to Sarmatia and he wanted to talk to his commander-former commander, he reminded himself-about many things before he left.

He passed Vanora on the street and saw her wipe at the tears streaming down her face.

"Vanora? What is wrong?"

She continued walking as if he hadn't spoke, rounding the corner and leaving Tristan standing alone in the street.

"She kinna hear you. None of them can."

Tristan turned to the voice coming from the darkness.

"I know who you are," he said flatly as he stared at the young woman standing in the shadows. "You are the woman who lives on the west bank of the river. The one they call a witch."

"Among other things, including Tessla, which is what my mam called me," she said easily.

"What do you mean they can't hear me?"

Tessla ducked back into the alley as a couple of villagers passed by. Tristan stepped in front of them but they continued forward. His breath left his body in a rush as they passed him.

No, he thought. They didn't pass him.

They passed through him.

Tristan felt his chest constrict and his head pounded. He looked down at his hands, still covered with the blood and dirt from the battle. Flashes of memory forced themselves through his mind.

The battle. The Saxon. The fight between the two of them. His death.

His death...

"Tristan, you have to listen to me," Tessla said in a soothing voice. She could see the stricken look on his face and heard the raspy sound of his breathing as panic began to set in.

She walked to him, careful not to get too close. He had been in control of his emotions when he was alive. Never had she heard of him acting without thought.

But he was no longer alive. And that knowledge alone was enough to change everything about a person.

"I'm not dead," he said firmly. His voice quavered and that fueled his anger. He turned and stalked to the keep, ignoring Tessla as she followed him carefully. Once there, he stomped into the greathall. "Arthur! Gawain!" He bellowed for his friends, but none acknowledged him.

Tessla nodded as a maid scurried past, carrying a tray with three pitchers of wine. "Come," she whispered to Tristan. "This way."

He glared at her and followed the maid. She rounded the corner and entered the meeting room. Bors, Gawain, Galahad, and Arthur stood in their places around the Round Table. Tessla stopped outside the door but Tristan continued forward.

"Arthur, I must speak with you," he said.

"Knights," Arthur said, voice thick. "We come here…to remember our fallen—" He cleared his throat.

"Listen to me!" Tristan yelled helplessly, but Arthur continued talking.

"—To remember our fallen brothers," Arthur finished loudly. He raised his wine. "To Dagonet, who showed great bravery and love by giving the ultimate sacrifice. To Lancelot," he said pausing to gather himself.

Lancelot? Tristan looked around the table. Sure enough, the bawdy young knight was missing. Tristan bowed his head in a sign of respect. He listened as Arthur continued.

"-who died proving to the world that his fate would be one that he chose. And to Tristan, whose quiet ways spoke volumes. May his free spirit clear the way to the afterlife for all of us to follow."

The knights drank from their cups and began speaking of the fallen brethren, but Tristan was not listening. He sank to the floor and sagged against the doorframe.

He looked at Tessla, his amber eyes full of sorrow. His mouth opened, and then closed, as if he wanted to speak but was unsure of what to say. He lowered his gaze and stared blankly at the wall across from him.

Tessla's heart broke for him as a single tear slid down his ashen cheek.

"May I help you, lady?"

She jumped as Arthur addressed her. She bowed her head slightly and looked back down at Tristan.

"N-no, sir. I merely wished to express my con-condolences to you and your men."

She gave a quick curtsy and hurried from the door. She turned back to Tristan before she rounded the corner.

"Scout," she whispered. He did not acknowledge her.

"Very well," she said quietly. "Come to me when you are ready. But Tristan, it only gets harder the more you watch their lives continue without you."

With that, she disappeared, leaving Tristan to himself.

"They buried me today you know."

Tessla gasped and thumped a hand over her now rapidly beating heart. She turned to face Tristan and met his harsh gaze with a sympathetic one of her own.

"I know," she said quietly.

"Why am I here?" Tristan snarled. "What purpose did my life serve if not to join in eternity with my brothers who went before me?"

"That is what you must find out," Tessla said as she turned back to her work.

Tristan stormed up behind her and reached out to take her arm in a painful grip. His hand slid through her body and came out the other side. He tried again but the result was the same.

"The true definition of insanity is to do the same thing again and again and expect a different outcome," she said drolly, not looking up from her work.

"Why are you the only person who can see me?" he demanded, looking at his hand. He could still feel the warmth of her body tingling on his skin.

"I am your guide. I am supposed to help you adjust."

"And you know so much about this because…." Tristan paused for her to fill in the blank.

"Because my mam was a seer and my da was a mage," she said matter-of-factly. "You were pointed out to me when I was naught but a child."

"So you are a witch then," he said with a curl of his lip. "So tell me Witch, how is it you plan on helping me figure out my purpose?"

Tessla sighed and put down the herbs she had been grinding. She turned to face Tristan as she dabbed at her forehead with the back of her wrist.

"I am going to analyze your personality traits to see what you were lacking."

He stared at her in confusion. "Are those words supposed to mean something?"

"My da used…advanced…words," she said with a shrug. "At times I didn't understand him either. What it means is we'll be going 'round as though you were still alive and I'll be watching you to see what it is that you don't do."

"And what good will that do?" Tristan demanded.

"It will show me what you were missing that kept you from having a complete life."

Tristan stepped forward threateningly. "I am still dead, naught but a spirit," he said lowly. He pointed toward the graveyard. "My life is over! My body, buried!"

"Aye, and the sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner you can move on. As much of a shock as it is, scout, you are dead. There is no coming back from that, no matter how much you want it. Pitying yourself won't do a thing for you."

Tristan smiled grimly and stepped away from the girl. "Then by all means, Witch. Let's get this done."

Tessla stripped off her apron and put her crushed herbs in a bowl. She grabbed up a cloak and threw it over her shoulders before walking past Tristan and out the door. She shut the door and heard him curse.

"Witch! I cannot open this door!"

Tessla sighed and faced the door. "Come through the door, scout. You are not corporeal. You've no body to stop you," she whispered.

She saw Tristan's arm pass slowly through the door then retract. A second later both arms waved through the door and disappeared back behind it.

After a moment, she had to bite back a smile as Tristan's leg made a wide step through the door. He had his arms up, crossed over his face as if expecting it to get stuck on the way through.

"See?" She said with a smile. "You'll get used to it in time," she said, turning and heading toward the village.