Sir Bors narrows his eyes and releases his arrow with surety. The missle severs a hanging pinecone on its way to its destination. A pheasant falls to the ground below. Sir Mordred looses two arrows at a flush of five pheasant, but only one pheasant falls.

The two men leap over fallen trees and run like two young stags, firing arrows at three more escaping pheasant. Mordred kills one and Bors another. The chase is of no great strain to either man, though the graying Gaul has several years on the young Pict.

As they gather the fruits of their hunt, Mordred finally speaks to his jovial comrade - "You are unusually merry today." Bors sits down on a tree stump and begins to pluck the birds. Smiling brilliantly, he answers, "And you are discontended as usual, Mordred."

The Pict turns away, staring into the darkest part of the wood. "Why should I not be? There is one Grail and several dozen who seek it. Only one is destined to find it, and for him the glory of Earth and Heaven. Why should this not discontent me?"

"The knight who finds the Grail is indeed the inheritor of all the glory of Earth and Heaven, but do not confuse this as the purpose of our Quest, Sir Mordred. I believe that the Grail is more than what we have been expecting. In fact," Bors hesitates, "I believe that I may have already found it." The Gaulish knight releases a sign of inner peace as he stands. His heart and mind are with Gillian. Mordred turns slowly, fixing his grey eyes on his companion. His heart and mind are with the Grail.