Page 3 of Far From Sherwood Forest

His nostrils flare as the sharpened point digs into the skin of my neck until I feel fresh blood trickling down the column of my throat. I bite back a grimace, smother my fear.

Another breeze passes between us.

Just when I’m sure he’s about to kill me, the drumbeat of hooves fills my ears again. We both turn our heads to see a galloping horse already mere feet away. We should’ve heard itsooner, but I think it was that strange wind that kept us in a kind of bubble.

There’s no time for Henry to duck to avoid the sack of coins that comes swinging at his head. He flinches just enough to avoid a direct hit to the face, but it still slams into the side of his head with a force that knocks him to the ground, my arrow falling out of his grip.

John circles back on his horse, extending his hand. I take it, and he pulls me up so that I land on the horse behind him.

“You were supposed to split up!” I shout at him as we ride away from the Sheriff.

“You know I could never leave you behind, Robin. Besides, it looks like I got there just in time.”

I can’t deny that.

I’m pretty sure the Sheriff was about to get the thing he’s wanted most for the past two years. I shouldn’t be ungrateful I was able to disappoint him yet again.

When he spots my horse up ahead, John asks, “That’s yours, isn’t it?”

“It is now.”

I might’ve already grown a bit attached to the beautiful mare, and if I have the chance to keep her, I will.

John directs his horse toward mine, and I bring my feet up under me, crouching behind him with a steadying hand on his shoulder. His horse gallops up beside mine, and I launch myself off its back, landing right in the saddle on top of my horse. I squeeze my legs around her until my speed matches John’s, and we’re riding away, heading back toward the west to meet up with the others.

At least until we hear another joining us.

We both peer back to see the Sheriff pushing his midnight black horse harder than before, shaking the reins as blood drips down his temple, his face red and angry as he hunts us.

“He sure is persistent!” John yells, annoyed.

My responding grin is the most genuine it’s been today. “He always has been.”

It wouldn’t be much fun if he wasn’t.

God, I’ll miss this.

We don’t slow down, riding harder, faster. We aim for the denser trees with the goal of losing our shadow. He’s not used to the forest like we are. Our path manages to slow him down, but he’s still hot on our trail.

Then our horses skid to a halt.

There’s no sign as to why, but something has clearly spooked them. They neigh and snort, jerking their heads as their manes sway back and forth. Their front hooves come off the ground, kicking up dirt and forcing us to hold on tight.

Peering ahead, I spot…something.

I can’t quite make it out other than it’s a dark form between the trees. The longer I squint into the distance, the more it takes shape. A silhouette. A cloaked, hooded body. It stands several yards away. Still. Unmoving. Only its long robe—the green fabric so dark it’s almost black—flowing around and dusting the ground in yet another breeze. This one is stronger, the wind picking up leaves and twigs until it’s all swirling around our horses’ legs like a tornado of debris.

And then the forest seems to shift.

The gust blows through the branches until the entire trees appear to move. The ground below pulses with a kind of mystical energy, visible waves of it rippling across the earth. The sky above begins to dim, daylight fading speck by speck like stars blinking out of existence.

The sky turns black.

Real stars explode across the heavens.

Everything goes quiet. Calm. Still. The wind has died, and even the horses have settled.

Day has turned to night.