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We paraded through the woods, keeping our eyes peeled on the outskirts of the thin trail we walked.
Her first question came as we arrived at a bend in the river and a long, overturned log that ran across it like a bridge.
“Are we in Sherwood Forest?”
I eyed her. “Yes. We caught you in Derbyshire’s wood but brought you back to Sherwood. The lines are blurred around these parts.”
“Then isn’t this . . . illegal? Hunting, I mean. Sherwood is a royal charter.”
I scoffed. “Little girl, does it look like we give a fuck about Prince John’s laws?”
I turned my attention back to the log-bridge. The river ran fast underneath it, sloping down an incline. It could be dangerous. I nodded at the other side of the river, across the long slab of lumber. “Think you can handle it? Watch how I balance across. I’ll go . . .”
She jumped onto the log, shimmying with her arms stretched wide for balance, putting her body in a T.
“. . . first.” I frowned as she hopped off the other side with a pirouette and an annoying bow in my direction.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re more of a showman than I am.”
I made my way across, inching over the log. It flaked underneath my feet, bowing in the middle as I negotiated my weight. Being heavier and taller than the girl, I had to take it slower.
“Careful,” she said wryly when my leg almost slipped, “the middle part is nearly rotted. One wrong step might cause it to . . . snap.”
I glared at her and hurried the rest of the way across, plopping down on hard earth at the end. “Wipe that smirk off your face, songbird. You’re annoying me.”
She giggled and spun around, taking the lead again.
Yes, this girl clearly had stones. She was an adventurous spirit, and I envied her. I used to be the same, before the Merry Men. Before my life fell apart like a house of cards.
A rustling sound to our left made her freeze.
I nearly ran into her, shuffling to a stop.
She held up her fist. Robin’s gaze went to a shivering bush near a copse of birch trees. A brown-spotted hare popped out, nose scrunching as it went on hind legs.
I inhaled sharply and fumbled the bow off my back, pulling an arrow from the quiver along with it.
Robin watched me take aim. I closed my left eye to mark my target down the shaft of the arrow.
The hare’s head tilted curiously as it watched us, then it skittered left—and my arrow loosed with a whistle.
It struck the thin bole of a birch tree.
“Shit,” I grumbled.
“Give me that.” Robin snatched the bow out of my hands before I could react.
My eyes bulged.
She took off, yanking the arrow out of the tree. Then she crouched low, gazed at the ground, and disappeared.
My heart sped up as I followed her, struggling to keep up. She moved swiftly through the forest, over gnarled roots, under hanging branches, making sure not to disturb anything as she passed.
When I came to a thinner section of the woods, she was kneeled, bow poised high, aiming.
I couldn’t even see what she was looking at from my vantage. All I could do was hurry up alongside her.
She let out a hiss as she pulled back on the bowstring. It twanged out of her fingers and the arrow flew.
