Page 150 of Queen of Sherwood

I thought a moment. “I am the forest. Except I think it was actually you who said it, Will. I just thought it.”

His wicked smirk widened. “Then let’s test that theory, shall we?”

Chapter 42

Robin

After giving Alan-a-Dale a kiss and sending him scrambling toward my other mates to relay what we planned, I took off with Will.

I was brought back to my mad sprint for the Grinning Oak. That sunny day, when things hadn’t seemed so bad. When I gladly took a rumble in the weeds with Will Scarlet, fighting back and fiending for his touch all the same.

Now, the sky was dark. The wind sliced me, drying my eyes much like it had that day. We ran like starving animals, tearing through the trees, spurning each other on. Though we were both injured and exhausted, we now had a singular purpose driving us forward: Protect the Merry Men’s escape.

Draw eyes away from John, Tuck, Robert, Briggs, and Uncle Gregory, and cast them upon me and Will.

Our diversion worked immediately. We didn’t run stealthily—we made as much noise as we could as we careened through Sherwood Forest.

Once the torches reached the base of the hill and became actual soldiers, we heard the shouted voices, the baying of the hounds:

“There! I see a silhouette in the trees!”

“Bring light! They’re getting away!”

The enemy was much closer than we would have preferred.

Yet, in some sick way, we took it as a challenge. Our injuries, too, were motivations for us to outdo the other.

In my twisted mind, I thought, I don’t have to be faster than everyone. I just have to be faster than Will.

If I took that thought further, into the depths of darkness, then I would have realized that running faster than Will meant sacrificing him to our adversaries, which was the last thing I wanted.

It was the idea that fueled me and helped churn my legs incessantly. The spirit of competition—the notion of a race to safety.

My heart was frozen in my chest. My pulse had spiked so drastically that it was a constant thrum of noise in my ears.

Arrows whizzed harmlessly around us from our pursuers, catching tree limbs and bushes and undergrowth. Soldiers cursed as they ran through the trees after us, total strangers to the difficult terrain.

Will and I navigated it with an ease borne from spending countless months in the woods, and calling the forest home. It was almost like the branches and brambles parted to make our passage easier, before closing up to make our trackers’ more difficult.

Of course that was mere fantasy, which, as we all knew, was Alan-a-Dale’s jurisdiction.

I separated from Will for a split second, spreading from him like a parted river around a thick oak tree, before realigning on the other side.

He shot me a wolfish grin, and I returned the expression.

I felt like a child again. The monsters at my back were very real, this time. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill me and my mate—not after assumedly finding Sheriff George and Sir Guy’s corpses at the top of the southern hill.

The voices were closing in. The rustling of the woods became a cacophony of slashing swords across vines, and vicious shouting.

When Will and I began to tire, fresh legs behind us kept pace. We were outrunning them, perhaps, but not outpacing them.

It drove me further. I reached deep down to funnel all the energy I could muster into my legs.

Then I struck a gnarled branch with the tip of my boot.

Abruptly, the world was spinning and the ground was reaching up to smash against my face.

With a gasp, I caught myself and rolled awkwardly through leaves and bushes.

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