Page 151 of Queen of Sherwood

“Robin!” Will shouted. He stalled, pumping dust and dirt into the air as he slid to a stop. He wheeled around, backtracking, to help me up. His hands bit into my shoulders, hauling me to my feet. “Come on, thorn, we can’t stop.”

I winced as pain lanced up my leg when I put weight on my left foot. For all that talk of “being the forest,” Mother Nature had just reminded me that no one could claim her as an equal.

She kicked my ass, shoved me to the dirt, and now the voices of our enemies were even louder as they drew ever closer.

“Fuck, it’s twisted,” I grumbled, hobbling along in a mad dash with Will’s arm draped under mine.

I put my weight on his shoulder as we ran together.

“There, there!” came a shrieking voice.

“We’ve got ‘em!” shouted another.

I could see the bodies now—the silhouettes in the woods, hemming in to surround us. The rasping of steel being drawn from sheaths made my stomach plummet.

We had failed. And now we would be killed, or worse, captured. We would be tortured and hanged for all of Nottingham to see, to make an example of us.

This time, our deaths would be deserved. The claim that we had killed Sheriff George would be answered with cries of incredulity and anger from the populace, because we were guilty.

Like him or not, people didn’t appreciate when you killed their Sheriff. It brought a sense of lawlessness to the region that was impossible to ignore.

Still, we wouldn’t go down without a fight. Will was already drawing his wicked blades. I was reaching for mine, as boots stepped onto twigs and crunched dry leaves in every direction.

Then I heard a different kind of rustling in the bushes. Something natural, not manmade.

I shared a confused look with Will, both of our foreheads deepening with grooves.

Was my whimsical take on Mother Nature less than a fantasy? What is that sound?

“W-What the hell?” came a voice, just as the soldier appeared ten feet to my right. “You hear that?”

Other soldiers stepped into my view, coming in from all directions. At least ten of them.

The bushes around us shivered. Nightbirds cawed from the safety of their nests, darkening the bruised sky.

A low growl filled the night. Followed by another.

A chorus of growling, snarling, and . . .

Howling.

The forlorn, drawn-out howls brought gooseflesh snaking along my skin. The sounds echoed, bouncing off every branch and lifting high into the sky, to the moon. Filling the entire night.

My heart lodged in my throat as I turned to Will. “Keep running,” I hissed.

With a nod, he sheathed his blades and dragged me along with him. I fought against the pain and ran, the trees around me beginning to swirl by as we charged.

Something else flashed through those trees, alive and ancient and dangerous.

Feral.

I saw the blurs of darkness—four-legged silhouettes streaming across our peripheral vision faster than Will or I could ever hope to run.

Soldiers around us shrieked in fear.

The growls became the sounds of ripping flesh. Grunting and crying out. Blood showering the leaves.

I caught sight of a pair of yellow eyes, staring into our path at us. Then three more pairs of eyes. Within moments, it seemed like the entire forest had come alive with creatures of the night, in every bush and shrub.

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