Read Online Rowan Hood Returns by Nancy Springer - Free Book Online

Beau had dropped them, Rowan ran her hands over them—yew bow with ram’s-horn tips, flint-tipped elf-bolts in their leather quiver—the gifts of the aelfe seemed to have once more survived intact. Slinging the weapons of an outlaw over her shoulders again, Rowan started limping upslope.
    Running after her, Etty called, “Rowan, where are you going?”
    â€œI dropped my dagger.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œWhen I grabbed Dove’s mane.”
    â€œBut where?”
    Rowan could not see what more explanation was necessary: She meant to return to the deer trail atop the ridge, locate Dove’s hoofprints, then backtrack, searching for the dagger.
    Rook understood. “Sit down,” he told Rowan. “I’ll find it.”
    â€œI go find Dove,” said Beau.
    This made sense in one way, for the pony was more likely to let Beau approach her than anyone else. But it lacked sense in another way, for there was danger in the forest, and while Beau had a bow, she had not yet mastered it; her arrows missed more often than they hit, so how was she to defend herself? Etty declared, “No, I’ll go.”
    Beau’s black eyes flashed. My pony. “I go.”
    It was a serious matter, that of the missing pony, and not only because Beau loved Dove. Loose in Sherwood Forest with saddle and bridle, Dove could be taken by any stray peasant or outlaw or thief who could catch her. Or, even worse, her reins might catch on a tree, any part of her harness might become tangled so that she could not move, and she might starve if she were not found.
    â€œWe’ll both go,” Etty offered.
    â€œAnd leave Rowan alone?”
    â€œFor the love of toads,” Rowan said, “I can be left alone.”
    Rook told her, “Sit down.”
    â€œWait. Sit on this.” Beau twirled the cloak off her shoulders and tossed it to Rowan. “I go find Dove.”
    Etty said, “No, Beau, listen. You—”
    â€œI go now.”
    â€œI’ll go with you.”
    â€œNo, stay with Rowan!” Voices were heightening.
    â€œWe’re back where we started,” said Rowan, still standing, holding the heavy, wet cloak, her legs aching.
    Rook said, “Rowan, sit down. Etty, Beau, you stay with her. I’ll go for Dove.”
    â€œYou crazy?” Beau cried. “You go search the dagger.”
    Rowan said, “I can find my own nitwit dagger.” With Tykell at her side, she started limping off again. Stumbling, she put a hand on Ty’s back for support.
    Three voices cried after her.
    â€œRowan!”
    â€œRowan, wait!”
    â€œRowan, you—”
    â€œWhat’s going on?” called a fourth, plaintive voice.
    Rowan turned. They all turned.
    There stood Lionel, all seven feet of him, blinking and bewildered, leading Dove like a big dog at his side.
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    With nightfall, the rain started again. A hemlock grove provided shelter of a sort, but with no dry wood to be found, the Rowan Hood band lit no fire. Huddled with the others, soaking wet, Rowan shivered. Yet this night her heart felt warm. Her belly ached, empty, for there had been nothing but greens to eat, but for tonight her heart felt full.
    â€œDove,” Lionel was telling the pony, “despite appearances, this grass is my supper, not yours.”
    â€œIt isn’t grass,” Etty told him. “It’s cresses.”
    â€œDove,” said Lionel, and even in the dark Rowan knew his eyes had gone owlish round, “as you can’t graze, you are supposed to browse on the hemlock boughs. By morning I may be doing likewise.”
    â€œSacre bleu, that I like to see,” said Beau amid muffled laughter. “Lionel, he browse twice as high as Dove.”
    They joked in defiance of hunger, cold, rain. The way they always did when things got hard, Lady bless them. As they went on with their laughing talk, Rowan grew aware of a small silver embrace on the third finger