Author's Note: I have been secretly working on this for a while. A few months ago, I had a very vivid dream involving a strange newcomer to the gang. Yes, this is an O/C story and like I said on my profile, no idea of who the love interest is going to be so I will be writing several scenes into this story with each of the main lads (Robin, Will, Allan and there could be some possible Much action, Charlotte ;P ) I'm sorry for the delay and I hope you'll all be as faithful with your reviewing as you are with Tricks That Once Fooled Me. This story is mainly being written for Charlotte, seeing as she was the one who told me to write it up instead of spending the entire lesson telling her about my dream xD
Enjoy, Folks!
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Morning's First Light
Lay down, be still
Don't worry talk they will
I'll be loving you until
Morning's first light
Breaks tomorrow
I'll take care of you tonight
We The Kings - Secret Valentine
The swallow is a remarkable bird. It is incredibly graceful when in flight, whilst also being capable of reaching high speeds and eating in the air. It has beautiful black plumage and roosts in treetops. Its song is likened to a liquid warble and is a welcome sound among travellers, peasants, nobles and outlaws alike.
This particular Swallow however, walked briskly along the forest floor, looking about her nervously and grasped the hilt of her sword whenever she heard a leaf fall or a twig crack. She wrapped her cloak about her more securely and pulled up her hood, making sure to obscure her face by pulling up a scarf that had been wrapped around her neck and pushed under her cloak. A quiver upon her back contained a meagre amount of arrows. They stood up straight and true, topped with dark feathers that at different angles had a blue tint to them. Wrapped under her quiver, a thin, ragged blanket lay, rolled up tightly and fastened safely out of the way.
The wind blew gently, not enough to cause unease but enough to cause a calming swoosh swoosh, sound as it blew through the leaves of the trees lining the thin pathway through the forest. The ground had been worn thin by foot after foot pressing down upon it and compressing it until the soil had begun to show through in spots. It seemed odd, tiny spots of brown sticking out in a long strip of green.
So far, the girl had encountered no one on her travels. She had waited until morning's first light and travelled cross-country for as long as she could without disturbing anyone. As she had neared Loughborough, she had been weak with hunger and had settled down on the grass verge to eat the bread that she had packed. A quite young-looking peasant had passed by, driving a cart with a sack of potatoes and a pair of chickens destined for a roasting. He had halted his giant Draught horse, smiled shyly
and had offered her a lift to the outskirts of Sherwood Forest. When she had enquired to the breed, knowing enough about horses to know that it was not the typical English Shire, Suffolk Punch or Clydesdale, he had replied that he was a new breed of horse that his master had brought over from a distant country.
"Theyms' called a Persh…Persheron." He had said, with great difficulty pronouncing the name.
(A/N: The Percheron, as it is known, is a French breed and so as many Peasants would have no idea how it would be spelt. He is obviously just saying the name of the breed the way his master had pronounced it. Of course, this breed probably wasn't even bred the same way as the modern ones but I wanted the horse to be a little different to the normal draught horses which would have been used at that time. For none horsey people, just imagine big hairy grey Draught Horses ;P)
She had smiled and nodded, smiling a little as the he chattered on, oblivious to her ignorance of the breed. Once they had reached the vast expanse of tall dark trees, much of the forest taken up by the large trunks of Fir trees and the common English Oak tree, she had gracefully stepped down from the rickety hay cart and waved goodbye as the peasant made his way on to market.
She made her way along the track slowly, keeping her eyes peeled and her wits about her. She had heard rumours of outlaws ambushing anyone and everyone passing along their 'territory'. Although she was slightly alarmed about being attacked by a group of ragged wild men, she deduced that it was much better than being trapped back at her home.
The only thing of value she had about her self was a bag of coins, intended to fuel her need for food. She looked down at her sword, a one and a half handed, double-sided blade, fairly simply designed, with no ornate carvings about the hilt like her fathers. At least it wasn't as valuable and wouldn't draw attention upon her. As long as she kept her disguise up, she wouldn't be stopped on her travels. It wouldn't be strange to see a young man travelling alone, whilst carrying weapons as a way of protecting himself.
Her bow was a re curve bow, made of yew and although rather boring from a distance, it had an ornately carved handle, Her father had commissioned the village bowyer to make it for her cousin, as a gift for when he returned from the Crusades. When the news had come, she was already preparing to escape and so took the chance to leave with more protection than a measly dagger and a blunt sword. Of course, before she had left, she had sharpened her sword so that it would be able to kill anyone who stood in her path. Although she was prepared to kill if her life depended on it, she hadn't yet had the chance to do so and hoped she never would.
The forest was extremely large and spread over miles and miles of English countryside. It was inhabited by a variety of woodland animals, from tiny sparrows and chattering squirrels to foraging badgers and foxes and multitudes of deer. It was a well-known fact that to kill one of the kings deer was a punishable offence, but the expensive taxes and lack of food meant that many people ignored the rule and set out to poach enough meat to feed their family for a night. If caught, an offender would lose a hand. Despite the obvious cruelty of the punishment and the way it ruins many people's livelihoods by making them cripples, it also renders them almost entirely useless at doing their job, thus losing them what little income they have. It was a harsh life in England, but it was one they have to struggle through with little or no help at all.
High above her head, a squirrel chattered in alarm and her head was showered with tiny droplets of that morning's dew, as it leaped from branch to branch in its escape for safety. A crow cawed as it flew over the treetops and the forest seemed to echo as another answered it's call.
As she looked up to the sky, shading her eyes with her hand, to protect them from the glare of the sun, she became aware of quickly approaching footsteps. It sounded like someone running. Someone running for their life. She looked back down the footpath, and, noticing the loud rumble of approaching horses, ran off the track and prepared to hide. Making as little sound as possible, she ran across the leaves that had fluttered down from the treetops and hit behind the thick trunk of an old oak tree. It was far enough off of the track she was on for them to pass on by without them noticing her, but it was close enough for her to be able to see what was happening and for her to carry on her journey without losing any time.
She crouched silently, waiting for them to pass but as the rumbling got louder, and it appeared that there were maybe six or seven horses at a flat out gallop tailing a young man as it appeared that their quarry was able to run fast enough to stay ahead of the horses and able to run for long distances. Somewhere nearby, a bird called and another answered. Feeling uneasy, she grasped the hilt of her sword, just as someone placed their hand around her mouth and placed a dagger to her throat. They pulled her backwards through a holly bush and motioned for her to be silent before releasing her. She pulled her arm back from the young man angrily and unsheathed her dagger, pointing it straight at him.
"What d'you want?" She asked, imitating the gruff voice of a young male.
"All right! There's no need for that!" He exclaimed indignantly. "I was only trying to save your neck!" The rumbling increased in both volume and speed. "Now, if you value your life, I suggest you keep quiet and stay as close to the ground as possible, lad." He whispered quickly before crouching to the ground and unsheathing his sword. She copied him and peered out of the bush to the pathway in front of them. A sudden movement, about ten metres to her left, alerted her to the presence of two or three men, two of which were hiding behind various trees; one was on each side of the path. The last had moved so that he was about ten metres to her right and was now stood in front of another holly bush.
The man pelted through the trees, panting and looking behind him as he ran as fast as he could. The horses were gaining on him slightly, he could tell that, but he had to know how much further he could run before getting caught. At the rate he was running, he might just make it. He carried a wooden staff in his right hand, one adorned with a metal ball covered in hundreds of little spikes, perfect for close combat. His arms, moving forwards and backwards in an effort to make him gain just a little bit more momentum, were covered in a simple white shirt, which in turn, was covered by a green tunic to match the green hat covering his slightly long sandy hair.
He ran for another hundred metres, until he reached his goal. A man stood in the middle of the path and winked as he ran past him and slowed to a halt to catch his breath. They had less than three seconds until the fight began but he needed to be ready.
As she lay in wait, she had examined the man to her right. He was stood in front of the holly bush, with his hands on his hips. His sleeves were pale green and his tunic was the colour of tree bark. As the man had ran past him, he had winked as if to say 'Good Job!' and then her heart had leaped as a row of horses came cantering around the corner after him. The men riding them were adorned in the colours yellow and black. Surely they were going to ride over this man and kill him! Was he crazy? Then in a sudden glint of sunshine through the treetops, she noticed a thin piece of wire strung between two trees, so that it crossed the path. She smiled and got ready to attack; she had worked out most of their plan and could tell it was going to work.
The first two horses ploughed past the wire and their riders were thrown from their backs in quite a comical way before they hit the floor with a sickening crunch. Ouch. Once they had fallen, the battle was initiated. The men ran out from their hiding places, and each choosing a victim, set about unseating them from their horse. One man, wearing a dirty beige hat on his head ran out from behind a tree on the opposite side of the path, and sliced through the air at the rider with his sword. A shield he carried in his left hand was ornately decorated in a green Celtic design. As the rider noticed him out of the corner of his eye, he pulled sharply on the reins of his horse, the horse veered sharply and turned in a half circle before slipping on the floor and falling. As the dark bay toppled to the ground, his rider soon followed suit after losing his balance.
The man who had 'saved her neck' ran up to a chestnut horse nearby and grabbed his rider by the knee and arm and helped him 'dismount' albeit involuntary. His grey-sleeved arms reached out to grab the reins of the horse as his rider hit the floor in order to prevent him from bolting.
A grey horse reared up off the ground, amid the confusion and shouts of the men. As it's front hooves left the forest floor, a young black haired man, wielding an axe, and wearing a bright orange shirt ran up behind the horse and pulled off its rider.
As the horse righted itself, Swallow noticed a soldier, sneaking up behind the young man who was struggling to keep hold of the horse's reins. He had his sword held loosely in one hand and was edging steadily closer, nearly close enough to attack him without him noticing. Running forward from her hiding place, she jumped in front of the man and parried the soldiers blow. She pulled her sword free from his, as they became locked together and then lunged forward and slashed at his stomach. He jumped back and parried her blow so she feinted right and cut his arm. Clutching it in pain, he stumbled away to bandage his wounds. The boy regained control of the horse and nodded his thanks as he mounted the horse.
A little further down the path, the man who had been chased by the soldiers had caught up with a horse, which had bolted after its rider had been flung from its back. Stepping in front of it, waving his arms and shouting "Whoa!" caused it to slow to a halt after realising there was no more danger.
As the men all mounted the horses they had commandeered from the soldiers, a man dressed in black appeared over the top of the hill, riding a black horse. He seemed in no hurry to follow the men, but instead seemed content to stand his horse by a tree and watch as they took down the wire. The men's leader, the one who had winked, looked up and grinned cheekily at the guy in black. He seemed to recognise the man as he laughed at him in an extremely mocking way.
Swallow stood alone by the side of the path as the men all began to canter past her. It was obvious that there weren't enough horses for them all to have one but after getting herself involved, it would have been nice to get a reward out of it. Sheathing her sword, she began to step forward, making her way back to the original path that she was on, but felt a hand grab her wrist. The hand pulled, hard, and she found herself flying up out of the air slightly. Grabbing blindly, she pulled herself into the only place available. Which happened to be the back of a bay horse being ridden by the young man with the brown tunic; the leader. Looking behind her, back at the man who was still sat motionless at the top of the hill, she could see the nasty smile he was shooting in their direction as the horse cantered down the track.