The Knight slowly pushed his way through the dense thicket. The bare, black thorny branches were knitted together into a harsh, spiney web, forcing him to slash and prise it apart with his sword.
It was hot and airless in the forest, although the trees were slimy and dripping wet. He was sweating uncomfortably under his plate armour, as dank droplets dripped from the trees and wormed under his armour to run down his skin.
Nonetheless, he was glad of his armour. It was all that was preventing him from being gored and scratched by the sharp spines on the branches. As it was, he felt thorny fingers scraping malevolently across the metal as he pushed his way through.
The forest had been dank and dismal from the start but the trees had been paced apart so that the going was easy enough, apart from the deep mud underfoot.
As he had progressed though, the undergrowth had risen up and the trees had grown closer together until it was all one, hideous tangled mass.
Was this really the way?
His sword, so mighty in battle, was ill suited to this work and was less and less able to cut a way through. In the end he was just pushing and using the weight of his armour to break through. It was exhausting, dispiriting work.
The mess of trees and brambles and thorns just seemed to get tighter and tighter. His armour felt heavier, the air hotter, his body sweatier as he laboured endlessly and senselessly forward.
He thought, though, that he could see chinks of light. Was that a clearing up ahead?
He gave a great push forward and then he was stuck. Branches like hands were clutching him and not letting go. He let his feet go from under him to let his weight pull him down but he didn't move. He was just stuck, suspended in the branches, like a fly in a web.
The Knight fought back the panic rising within him and the horrible, claustrophobic sense of being trapped forever in this dreadful place, his body rotting to bones in his armour still hanging in the trees.
He relaxed his mind, focused, and applied himself to the task. With his mailed hand he gripped hard on the branches that had caught him and slowly, deliberately ripped them apart.
There was sunlight just ahead. With a final surge of effort he tore the branches apart like a curtain and pushed his legs down into the mud and propelled himself forward, free finally from the clutching snare and out into a bright meadow.
He collapsed onto his knees and took deep shuddering gasps of air, that felt suddenly cool and fresh after the stifling heat of the forest. He tore the helmet off his head to better fill his lungs with the fresh, fragrant air.
For a while he just knelt there in the grass, overwhelmed by the feeling of release. The sky was deep blue overhead and the light dazzling after the thick, foetid gloom of the forest, so he kept his eyes scrunched up tight against the glare.
Eventually though, as he regained his composure and his eyes adjusted, he raised his head and looked around him.
He was kneeling in waist high meadow grass in a wide clearing. Red clover, buttercups, primroses and other flowers he had never seen before grew in wild profusion among the grasses, scenting the breeze with a rich, sweet perfume.
The land sloped gently downwards away from him to a shaded pool at the far side of the clearing. On all sides the deep, dank forest hedged around the clearing, as grim and off putting as the meadow was beautiful and enticing.
What most captured his attention though was a ring of maybe a dozen maidens, tall and fair, dancing together down by the water's edge.
Each was tall and slender as a willow, with long flowing hair, some blonde, some chestnut, some jet black, rippling over their shoulder, meadow flowers braided into their locks. Each was different but as lovely as the next.
The maidens wore long flowing white robes, covering them from their necks to their ankles. Only their arms and shoulders were bare.
As the Knight watched though, he realised that any impression of modesty was only illusory, their garments were diaphanous, almost transparent, as they danced and, as the garments flowed over their moving bodies, their taut, lithe flesh flashed within, pert breasts and thighs moving under the thin fabric.
The Knight knew he should look away for modesty. But he did not. He had never seen such beauty.
The maidens danced in a ring. Now hand in hand, now twirling around each other, now fast, now slow. It was complex but graceful and looked natural and spontaneous but no Lady the Knight had ever met could master those steps in a lifetime's practice.
There was no music that the Knight could hear but they seemed to be dancing to some deep, unheard rhythm, as old as the hills. And the more the Knight watched, the more he felt it, deep and wild and free, the music of the springtime, sweet flowers, wild running water, the coupling of men and of beasts.
He made his way unsteadily to his feet and lurched ungainly towards them. The sun burning on his armour.
