This story is inspired by a poem I was shown by a friend, written by Michael Faudet. I do not own or claim any ownership to the poem or characters herein. Here is the poem:

Such pretty things

you said to me –

Unbutton me

some more.

For I am yours

to take tonight

upon this forest floor.

Let's make a bed

in autumn leaves,

and leave

no leaf unturned

Beneath these trees

please teach me,

please –

To learn

a love

unlearned.

- Michael Faudet

"Lucy, come on, kitty, kitty."

Rain pounded down across England, streaking the deep dark still of night. Soft flickers of candle light still spotted the windows of cottages of huts as the people of Nettlestone prepared their beds.

"Lucy! Here kitty, Lucy!"

The shout of water slamming into mud rivalled the noise of ankle deep rivers pushing down the roads and drowning out yards and plants throughout the village. Then through the veil of darkness punched a small shadow that darted for her voice out cowardice and love, and very quickly the cat was scooped up and held tightly. Lucy was dripping from each paw, her gray fur matted down with rain, her eyes bewildered by the severity of the storm. She was quickly eased, though, by the tenderness of her owner; the way her hands always pet her softly and the way she cooed as if speaking to an infant.

"Poor thing, look at you, you're a drowned rat!" She noted the light blue fabric of her gown grow darker as the wet cat soaked through the belly of her clothes. The coldness crept like a vine up her ribs and crawled across her shoulders, reaching around to nip at her spine. With a shiver she glanced down the lane to notice several figures begrudgingly shifting about on the horizon. They appeared in the same texture as the looming shadows one's mind creates when surrounded by a dark room, except these ones carried covered torches that pierced the night with hazing oranges. Her green eyes squinted in what there was of light to make out what was happening yet there was no chance she could see or hear anything in this overflowing storm.

Defeated, she turned and opened the front door to the hovel to call it a night. As she whipped around to shut it she noticed one of the shadows edging up to her porch. Her fingers clutched a bit tighter on the cat's belly as the shape neared; no matter how close it got no color or shape could be deciphered from the background. It wasn't until the tall man was actually before her, torch in hand, that she could see it was only one of the Sheriff's workers – Sir Guy of Gisborne, to be exact. No one could ever say they were relieved to see him, but she did feel a break in realizing the fanciful and childish fear of demons were not the shadows lurking down the street. Some would still call those men demons, though, just ones in human flesh.

"Is everything alright?" Gisborne asked, "We heard shouting." His words described concern, and yet his strong jaw and monotone voice noted only a script of feigned worry. He did not want to get called out on letting a crime happen a block away from him for his own name's sake, not her defense. It took her a puzzled moment to reply.

"Shouting? Oh, no… I was calling for the cat to come in from the rain." She gave a light smile and shrugged. Guy's icy eyes looked down at the animal before rolling full circle in disgust – what a waste of time. "Is everything alright down there?" He followed her motion to the workers in the distance. Gisborne blinked several times and averted his gaze before looking back at her.

"The Sheriff requires new storage for provisions. It's nothing you or your lot need to be concerned about."

"Must be hard working in this weather. My goodness, you're going to catch cold – you take care of yourself out there." She wore worry on her brow with these words, which perplexed Sir Guy. Why should she care about their welfare if they're just builders? He noticed her creamy white skin crinkle up in goosebumps to protect her from the icy storm, her slim arms twitching with a shiver… He did not quite know how to feel about her freezing herself just to speak with him. All he could think was, why?

"It is a man's work, we will get it done." Gisborne let a tiny grin flash for a moment to return her kindness.

"Well, if it gets too cold and you'd like some warm barley tea, you come on back and ask for me."

"Who?"

"Sorry?"

"Who do I ask for…?" His low voice tattered off into a silly chuckle. Guy felt captive to a giddy schoolboy who was charging around with excitement from the attention of a pretty classmate.

"Oh, now, where are my manners? Beatrice – my name is Beatrice, daughter of Edgar Howell." With sheepishness the young lady set down the cat indoors and extended a hand to shake. Guy made eye contact with her as he slipped off a worn glove and took her palm, raising her hand to give it a light kiss.

"Goodnight, Beatrice." He smiled. As she shut the door Gisborne pounded his head into the side of the house. What on earth was that?

He realized he had reached the point of being simply delusional. Ever since Marian flew away to the forest he felt a loss of direction, a loss of himself. Now, like the starved stray dog that he was, he chased and clawed for the morsels and scraps of attention he could find from anybody on the street. Guy had tucked away the fact that Vaisey would always dote on him in exchange for service; he was fine with lying to himself to believe it was affection. Guy hid the truth he already knew deep inside his coat, under his ribs, in his own heart where he dare not look.

The months without Marian were filled with as much drink and courtesans his body could handle – after all, that's attention, isn't it? He had always known the answer was no. But now in this moment he knew he could not break away from the first natural emotion he had felt in so so long. He had to decide whether it was okay to flee his shell of hurt and angst… No. No, it was not safe. It was not smart. It was not going to happen. He threw on a poker face and trudged back into the shower of rain to bark orders. In this weather, he did not allow himself to even feel the water on his skin.