Title: Senses
Author: Matriaya
Rating: K+
Author's note: I bow down to my lovely beta, Midget in High Heels, who had the grace to read this even before she left for class. Also, all kudos to the plot idea go to her. Love!
Comments: Yes please! I'll give you a cookie! Chocolate chip! With frosting!

Sight
Allan-A-Dale peered out from behind a tree for the fourth time, checking once again to make sure the coast was clear. He could never be too sure nowadays, everywhere he turned, someone new sprang out of the undergrowth and attempted to kill him, be it Locksley or one of the Sheriff's guards. Yes, seems clear, he thought and darted with as much dignity as he could muster back onto the path. Green hovered around him, thick and heavy, filling up his world. He'd always loved that about Sherwood Forest – the way that, even on a stormy night, or in the dead of winter, it was always springing forth with new life.

To be sure, he liked the castle much more than the woods. Give him a warm bed and a bag of gold to his bunk in the camp any day, even if the scenery was better there. Still, if life was good, he took comfort in a stroll through the woods, probably because that's what it was – a stroll. A walk through the beauty of nature, watching the birds flit through the trees and the ivy wind its way up ageless tree trunks.

Today was no stroll through the woods however, today he had a plan. He was constantly vigilant scanning the surrounding forest with his thief's eyes. Even the slightest movement in the underbrush would send him behind a tree again, but for now he crept ever so slowly toward his destination. All, for the moment, appeared calm.

Touch
"This, we do not like." Little John grumbled as he trudged wearily out of their hidden camp and out into the woods to keep watch. It wasn't that he didn't want to do his part to keep them safe, and keep a wary eye out for passersby, honest, he did. He just hated getting out of from beneath the warmth of his blankets to do so. Especially not on a cold night like this one.

His boots stopped out a heavy rhythm on the hard ground as he climbed to the top of the ridge and sat down on a rock. A particularly jagged edge dug into his backside and he shifted uncomfortably. As his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, John found that he eased up a bit. Nothing but the night creatures out with him, and they were nothing to fear.

His staff rested across his lap, but his fingers turned it in a slow rotation. He didn't like this new one as much. It was only a matter of time before his old one snapped, he knew, but he still begrudged its loss. This new one felt unfamiliar.He hadn't the time to trace its grooves, so each new bump and crevasse was something to be explored, and if there was one thing John didn't like, it was surprises. There best not be any surprises on that night, he grumbled inside his head, or someone would find a very large bump on their head in morning. Releasing a deep breath, John hunched down with his elbows on his knees and began tracing the grooves of his staff once more.

Smell
The scent of carrots and squirrel normally made him perk right up, and today was no exception. It bubbled in the pot, and with each pop a new and delicious scent erupted forth. It was his own little piece of heaven. This was by far his favorite part of the day. Running back and forth across Sherwood Forest tuckered him out far too quickly. He hadn't the stamina his master had. In fact, he had very little of the shining attributes his master had, but the one thing he could hold over Robin's head was his ability to cook.

Not that anyone seemed to appreciate it much, he grumbled. Still, the scent of a good meal relaxed him, not to mention made his stomach grumble. A whiff of pine floated delicately from the forest to mingle with the broth and vegetables, and it made for a heady combination.

"Thank you, Much," Djaq whispered at his side in a private moment of appreciation. Unlike the rest of the lads, she actually acknowledged his hard work, though never in front of the others. He grinned over at her, and stirred the pot a bit more. Crushed rosemary crumbled through his fingers to spice up the meal.
"Smells good, doesn't it?" he beamed.

Sound
Will awoke to the sound of crying. It was so soft, barely detectable through the quiet hush of the wind rustling the leaves, but his trained ears heard it. It was Djaq, he knew. This wasn't the first night she'd awoken in the grips of night terrors, most likely a darkness from her past come back to haunt her, and vented her feelings through soft sobs and tears that would evaporate by morning.

Several nights over the past months, he'd lain awake, staring up at the shifting leaves through their makeshift ceiling and listened to her crying. It took all the strength he had not to crawl across camp and slip next to her, grasp her hand and stroke her hair, whisper tenderness into her ear. It wouldn't have to be coherent, just soothing sounds to chase away her fears and instill her with the peace she so desperately needed.

When the sun rose, the routine was the same. She would put on a cheerful face and complain about the cold in a manly fashion. Any trace of tears would long since soak into her blanket, but he saw the dark circles under her eyes that went unnoticed by everyone else. Once or twice he almost worked up the nerve to pull her aside from the gang and tell her he knew, tell her he cared. That when her accent drifted on the afternoon breeze, it wasn't crude of barbaric as she often feared, but beautiful and seductive.

All the words he so desperately longed to speak remained trapped behind his lips. Fear and cowardess trapped them there, and there they would remain. For now, he simply lay still and listened.

Taste
There was something about the fall air that made Djaq stick her tongue out. It was a habit from back home, when, during certain times of the day, the scent of jasmine and spices washed on the breeze, and she'd stick out her tongue to try and taste the delicious smells. She could never really taste anything, of course, but if she closed her eyes, and stuck out her tongue far enough, she almost imagined she could.

As they all tromped through the woods, she looked around at all the splendid colors that burst forth from the trees. A few flowers still clung to life underneath a giant oak tree, a pale shade of pink she often equated with the innocent young girls from back home. They would taste delicious in a salad, she thought to herself, but didn't quite have the heart to pluck them from their life-giving roots.

Less and less, she found herself yearning for the exotic tastes from back home. The curry that scorched her tongue, but that she couldn't get enough of. The colorful salads with flowers and leaves of all types, topped with dressings she couldn't even pronounce, but could identify immediately once they slid down her throat. As she acclimatized to life in England, she found she wanted to experience new tastes. Hot venison, fresh from a deer they'd brought down, and cured to perfection by Much. Amber ale, stolen in pints from the tavern in Nottingham and stored away for special occasions.

Then the desired tastes got more unfamiliar, more off limits. The smoky taste of a man's lips against her own, the heady rush of her mouth against his bare skin. A flush jumped up and assaulted her face the moment that thought entered her mind. Still, she couldn't help but dart a glance over at Will and wonder. He caught her gaze and smiled in that friendly way he always did, completely oblivious to the scandalous thoughts that slipped, rampant, through her mind. She looked away, pretended to be distracted once more with the flowers, but she secretly smiled as her tongue darted out once more, this time to trace across her lips. She pretended she could taste him there.

Intuition
Robin had never lived his life with any sort of plan. He found that if he made plans, they were generally ripped to shreds. Now, he had one plan in life, and that was to marry his soul mate. Even that wasn't coming easily. Complications and road blocks kept popping up, particularly in the form of one Guy of Gisbourne. If only King Richard wasn't thousands of miles away. If only he'd never left for the Holy Land…

He certainly hadn't planned on that either. The King asked him to go, so he went. The King said charge, and he ran, screaming at the enemy with his sword in hand and only his intuition to guide him. It kept him alive when men fell around him by the thousands. It led him back to Locksley, and back into the arms of his one true love, however brief their moments together may be. He had gotten used to jumping from one harrowing situation to the other. Settling down, once he crossed the eternity it took to reach that stage, would be odd for him.

Today was just another round of testing for his trusty intuition. His goal was to sneak into the palace, pull Marian into a darkened and deserted corridor, and kiss her until she couldn't breathe. This would involve sneaking into through the gate undetected, getting into the castle, navigating past numerous guards, not to mention Guy and the Sheriff, finding Marian, then finding a hallway that would be deserted long enough to ravish her properly. Oh the things he would do for love. Without giving much thought to any sort of plan, Robin rode off towards Nottingham with a ridiculous grin on his face.