Tristan galloped through the plains, the trails, and the fords and streams, marveling. He didn’t need to look at the familiar ground. Instead, his gaze sought Isolde’s face, envisioning her just ahead, wearing a purple dress and her hair dancing gold like the Faerie of the woods. There could be many “chemins” (paths), but his teeth set, determined to love her.
Arriving at a certain thorn tree, he dismounted and waited in its shadow. Darkness fell, and he thought he saw a light moving towards him. He kept silent. But the light never materialized before him so he lay down to sleep under the tree.
At dawn, he woke to find Isolde beside him in a pale gown. He half sat up in surprise. They lay near the Adventurous Ford, and his horse had gone missing in the night. At a distance, the prairie gleamed gold-bronze, and stoic structures of the forest forebode entrance except to tho brave enough to be a knight.
But it was I, Brangien, who had found Tristan with my light, and showed Isolde the way.