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As we retraced our steps, a chill breeze moaned through the trees. The leaves shivered around us. I felt foreboding dread, eyes darting around, thinking I was seeing shadows on the outskirts of the trail.
Will and Alan became quiet, leading me to believe they felt the same thing.
“Hold,” Will whispered after an hour of trekking. He crouched, parted some crushed leaves and sprigs from the ground, and studied a boot print stamped in the dirt. He looked over his shoulder. “This one isn’t ours.”
The chill on my skin dug deep, wrapping around my bones. I hugged myself and my stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”
He only gave me a frown as an answer.
Then he was on his feet, dashing off the trail.
I gasped, shared a worried look with Alan, and we rushed after him, neither of us wanting to be left behind.
We pushed through foliage and thick undergrowth off the path. I nearly tripped over a root and Alan caught my arm. Will scurried through the forest like a sly fox.
White puffs showed with every breath. My lungs burned from running. The thin silver birches gave way to thick oak with gnarled, overlapping branches, making it harder to follow our comrade. Needles from pines stabbed me and broad canopies from beeches obscured my vision. I was losing him, losing my sense of direction from the blurring trees and setting sun—
And then he stopped up ahead. Froze still, put up his fist so we wouldn’t come crashing through the flora.
Will crouched behind a copse of pines and peered over an outlook—the lip of a small hillock that sloped dramatically down to the forest floor. Even before I arrived next to him, I saw the thin tendril of smoke rising up to our perch.
We gazed down at the tops of three heads settled around a campfire. Meat sizzled in the flames. The men wore tough leather armor—black—helping them blend into the dark green surroundings.
I held my breath. Will and Alan said nothing as we watched.
Their voices were too low to hear from our vantage.
After watching the men for a few minutes, Will nodded to us and we slowly backed away. This time he moved more cautiously, like a hunter on the prowl. His voice was a whisper on the wind. “Those were scouts.”
“Not a thousand feet from our camp,” Alan said.
“We must warn the others and be on the move, swiftly,” Will said.
“Little John already said he planned to move the group during nightfall,” I added.
Will grunted. “Then let’s hope they’re ready upon our return.”
We all agreed, and made our way back to the trail that led in the direction we needed to be going. We rounded a twisting part of the road, Will in the lead—
And he nearly ran into a person coming the opposite way.
For a moment, their dark eyes locked together, growing wide. They were five feet from one another. The world seemed to stand still.
A stranger in black armor. A hood over his head. A scar on his face. Heading toward the group at the fire, and away from our camp.
“Fuck!” the man yelled.
What happened next was a flurry of limbs and movement. The man fumbled with the sword at his waist and the shield on his back. Will drew his swords out in an X, much quicker than the scout.
The man’s shield came out before his sword.
Will batted it away with a quick flick of his wrist, lunging at his opponent. Sparks flew and the man dropped the weighty thing on the ground while backpedaling.
Fear settled in the scout’s eyes and he turned and ran before his sword was halfway out its scabbard.
Will Scarlet gave chase without thinking twice.
“Will!” I shouted into the whipping wind.
