Read Online Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood) by R.M. ArceJaeger - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R.M. ArceJaeger
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and in the bright afternoons. She practiced in the windy evenings, and in the dead of the night when her targets were nothing more than wisps of shadow. Soon she could strike her mark no matter what the conditions.
She devoted just as much time to her sword, rehearsing half-remembered lunges and parries for hours on end. Once she grew strong enough to lift the blade with one hand, she began to fence against the trees. At first, she worried that the thick wood might damage the sword; Will had paid to have the blade etched with silver dragons and fairies and other fantastical creatures, and he would never forgive her if she marred the splendid detailing. But the trees did not appear to do the etchings any harm, and after a while Robin forgot that it had ever been a concern.
When she grew weary of practice, Robin would gather the saplings she had slaughtered and carry them back to the clearing. By lashing them together with strips of deer hide and by filling the chinks with bark and river mud, Robin was able to construct the walls for a shelter. The door she fashioned from shoots and branches, and the roof from the reeds that grew by the river, padded with fronds. The result was a hut with no windows that was barely big enough for her to stretch her arms out twice in either direction . . . but it was hers.
* * * * *
As summer started to wane, Robin began to take long walks through the forest. At first, she had to stop often to let her feet rest, but within a few days her blisters turned to calluses and her legs ceased to ache at all. Soon the muscles in her legs hardened into slender sinew, to match the weapon-wrought thews in her arms and back. This sleek strength pleased Robin, though she felt certain that anyone else would have found such brawn in a woman distasteful.
During these initial wanderings, Robin was careful to notch every other tree with her dagger in order to ensure that she could find her way back; but after a while, she no longer needed to mark the trunks in order to keep her way. By the time autumn struck the Sherwood and the leaf-casting trees turned their blades to lacquered gold, Robin knew the forest paths as well as she knew her yew bow.
Most of the time her walks passed in silence, and her thoughts turned often to her cousin and her sister: she wondered what they were doing, and if they were thinking of her. But such musings only served as painful reminders of the life she no longer had, and she did her best to push them aside, as she pushed aside thoughts of her future.
Occasionally, the silence would be broken not by chittering wildlife, but by the carefree voices or the measured steps of man. Whenever this happened, Robin would duck away into the bracken until they passed, thus avoiding their dangerous notice.
Then one night as she made her way back to her refuge from an evening expedition, she stumbled upon two men sitting by a fire, singing softly into the dark. Rather than melting away again, Robin found herself creeping forward to listen to their melodic chorus of gallant knights, of loves lost and won, and of bravery nonpareil. As she listened, she found herself thinking of another campfire, and of the two unburdened souls who had once sat around it. It was only when the singing stopped and the two men prepared to go to sleep that she found she could break away. If there were tears in her eyes as she made her way home, she blamed it on the smoke.
* * * * *
One bright September afternoon, something transpired that would forever shatter Robin’s routine. The azure sky that day had a touch of briskness to it that teased of the coming winter; it filled Robin with a strange invigoration, and she found herself roaming farther afield than she ever had before, clear to the edge of Nottingham. She had just turned to head back home when she heard raised voices, and a low muted scream.
Robin paused. Part of her wanted to ignore the shout and hurry on her way; the other part
She devoted just as much time to her sword, rehearsing half-remembered lunges and parries for hours on end. Once she grew strong enough to lift the blade with one hand, she began to fence against the trees. At first, she worried that the thick wood might damage the sword; Will had paid to have the blade etched with silver dragons and fairies and other fantastical creatures, and he would never forgive her if she marred the splendid detailing. But the trees did not appear to do the etchings any harm, and after a while Robin forgot that it had ever been a concern.
When she grew weary of practice, Robin would gather the saplings she had slaughtered and carry them back to the clearing. By lashing them together with strips of deer hide and by filling the chinks with bark and river mud, Robin was able to construct the walls for a shelter. The door she fashioned from shoots and branches, and the roof from the reeds that grew by the river, padded with fronds. The result was a hut with no windows that was barely big enough for her to stretch her arms out twice in either direction . . . but it was hers.
* * * * *
As summer started to wane, Robin began to take long walks through the forest. At first, she had to stop often to let her feet rest, but within a few days her blisters turned to calluses and her legs ceased to ache at all. Soon the muscles in her legs hardened into slender sinew, to match the weapon-wrought thews in her arms and back. This sleek strength pleased Robin, though she felt certain that anyone else would have found such brawn in a woman distasteful.
During these initial wanderings, Robin was careful to notch every other tree with her dagger in order to ensure that she could find her way back; but after a while, she no longer needed to mark the trunks in order to keep her way. By the time autumn struck the Sherwood and the leaf-casting trees turned their blades to lacquered gold, Robin knew the forest paths as well as she knew her yew bow.
Most of the time her walks passed in silence, and her thoughts turned often to her cousin and her sister: she wondered what they were doing, and if they were thinking of her. But such musings only served as painful reminders of the life she no longer had, and she did her best to push them aside, as she pushed aside thoughts of her future.
Occasionally, the silence would be broken not by chittering wildlife, but by the carefree voices or the measured steps of man. Whenever this happened, Robin would duck away into the bracken until they passed, thus avoiding their dangerous notice.
Then one night as she made her way back to her refuge from an evening expedition, she stumbled upon two men sitting by a fire, singing softly into the dark. Rather than melting away again, Robin found herself creeping forward to listen to their melodic chorus of gallant knights, of loves lost and won, and of bravery nonpareil. As she listened, she found herself thinking of another campfire, and of the two unburdened souls who had once sat around it. It was only when the singing stopped and the two men prepared to go to sleep that she found she could break away. If there were tears in her eyes as she made her way home, she blamed it on the smoke.
* * * * *
One bright September afternoon, something transpired that would forever shatter Robin’s routine. The azure sky that day had a touch of briskness to it that teased of the coming winter; it filled Robin with a strange invigoration, and she found herself roaming farther afield than she ever had before, clear to the edge of Nottingham. She had just turned to head back home when she heard raised voices, and a low muted scream.
Robin paused. Part of her wanted to ignore the shout and hurry on her way; the other part
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