His shelter. A small peaceful haven behind black roaring madness of the storm. The soft rustle of leaves echoes in the crystal-clear serenity of the pond. Emerald streams of willows flow from the sky like a tune. Scarlet blanket of silky poppies covers the grass between mighty roots. He is welcomed here. He can feel it in the warmth of the old wrinkled bark of willow under his hand. He can hear sympathy in a gentle whisper of breeze among the plants. Like a dream coming true – here, in the most sacred corner of his heart. He has been waiting a long, long time to get there…

With a great effort he lifts his blade for the last time. Bloody flashes cut the jade surface of duckweed. The battle is over. Now he`s just a lonely traveler seeking some peace after so many years of bloodshed. For a brief moment a shadow of her face appears among iridescent wings of dancing dragonflies. She`s waiting for him. And he can`t make her wait any longer.

A warrior sealed in heavy armor, deafened by clashing of swords and bell rings – now he can finally shake that weight off his shoulders and breathe deep. In the sweetness of the air he falls into a good, sound sleep, the last knight of the Round Table. And the whole island vanishes with him in a faint magic mist.