Young Galahad and Tristan.

Their knees knocked, Galahad noticed, every time Tristan pulled him down into a crouch to point out something indecipherable in the half-thawed Britain soil. This wood was foreign and hostile to Galahad, but Tristan had taken to it unassumingly just as he had the various landscapes they had ridden through since home.

Galahad still had trouble understanding Tristan's quiet voice and the unfamiliar twists of his syllables, and forest things had never spoken to him at all; but Galahad kneeled and watched and listened, scrambling to his feet when Tristan took off again, following a path Galahad was blind to.

He hurried to keep up and took care in walking only half a step behind Tristan, who made this belligerent wilderness into something incomprehensibly optimistic.