I am angry at him. It's easy for me to express it. Everyone will think that it's because of the cause, because he chose money over liberty. Yeah, that's part of it. But, if I'm to be truthful with myself, I must admit that it's only a little part.
I am angry at him because he turned his back on me. I swear up and down that there was something in the way that I would look at him, and he at me. I cared for him, and I thought that he cared for me. Obviously, I was wrong.
He stammers, mincing his justification with his apology. When I don't listen, he becomes angry. This only fuels my temper. How dare he? He has no right! A tiny voice whispers in my ear. He has a point. It's easy for you.
My hand is shaking. I'm holding a knife to his traitorous neck, and he's begging me to spare his life. After a moment's contemplation, I cut the tag from around his neck.
"You're lucky I've left you a life to swear on," I hiss in the harshest tone I can muster, trying to sound like an enraged leader rather than a scorned lover. I hope that the sound of my threat covers the shattering of my heart. I storm out of the Trip, forcing myself not to turn around.
I am angry at him because even with all the truth in his taunt, he got it all wrong.
"You were always in the sun, Robin, and I'm always in the shade."
This is not correct, I think to myself as I sneak back into Sherwood, squinting into the rays of a setting sun. To me, he was the sun. And now he is gone. And I am in the shade.