TWELVE
Rosamond's mind drifted as she slumbered, dreaming of the endless cycle of the seasons as the plants around her grew, flourished or lay dormant, all the while whispering that they kept her safe. If such was her afterlife, she would not complain. Sometimes in her dreams she was a tree or bush herself, fighting the bite of an axe or blade as she defended her kingdom. Even if it was no longer hers in death.
Today, the dream was different. For a moment, she was a briar, defending herself from a fool who would bring plague to the kingdom, and the next, she had the limbs of a woman again, and eyes with which to see that he was no fool, but Sir Warin, brave knight that he was, trying to save her.
While she held him fast to the wall, out of reach, she directed her thoughts inward. If a
