The ground is slick beneath his feet, and he moves carefully across the damp earth, barely able to see in the darkness as it is, the visibility furthered impaired by the heavy rain. There's little chance of anyone catching him, but instinct has him moving with nimble steps towards the barn, breathing a sigh of relief, accompanied by a triumphant laugh, when he makes it without being noticed. The estate is far enough away that he's sure he could spend the night here and then abscond with one of the horses before sunset without anyone noticing a thing.
Shaking off the excess moisture from his cloak and then running a hand over his wet hair, Robin steps further into the barn, intending to get a good look at the horses and try to decide which one would be best to take. He reaches for his flask, letting the alcohol's warm amber rivers kiss his lips and dance slowly down his throat, filling him with a pleasant, heady euphoria. But then a sound catches his attention, and he turns, finding a young woman curled up in the corner and crying softly.
Her knees are drawn up to her chest, and she seems to have made herself as small as possible. He should leave now, take one of the horses and just ride into the night, even in this rain. All he cares about is this horse, he can't spare a moment to think about her. So he tucks his flask away again, moving slowly towards his purpose. He can take it and leave, because what can she do to stop him, really? By the time she makes it back to the estate, he'll be long gone.
But as he takes a few more steps, her head suddenly lifts, and he's caught, stopping completely in his tracks. Their eyes meet, and he's sure he's never felt more awful; there are tears glistening in her red, swollen eyes, but there's an absence of life there that makes his heart tremble and question its purpose.
He wants to bring back some light to those eyes, he realizes, and that's a dangerous and ridiculous thought, because they're not meant for this, for anything more than sharing the same cold, unforgiving air surrounding them for but a few moments.
What can he do?
Leave. Run.
He would, if this were anyone else, he would, but his heart is shining out a light like it hasn't in some time, and before he can talk himself out of it, Robin is stepping forward slowly, crouching in front of her. She buries her head again and mumbles something incoherent.
"I can't actually hear you when you hide your face, m'lady," he quirks a smile, trying something, anything to make her laugh.
It doesn't succeed in that regard, but she does pick up her head again, and now that he's closer, he can see that she's bleeding quite profusely from her lip, and a flash of anger burns hot in the pit of his stomach.
He doesn't carry a handkerchief like royalty, so he tears a bit of his cloak off, bunching it up and pressing it against her bleeding lip to try and staunch the blood.
"You have to go," she says, the words clumsy around her swollen lip.
"Now? Not until you're well," he insists, but she shakes her head, and there's fear shining in her eyes.
Her soft hand wraps around his wrist, the look in her eyes so urgent. "Go. Please. She'll find you…"
It's clear then who did this. She. But… "Who is she?" He queries, keeping pressure on her wound.
Her eyes dart downward, and he can feel her shaking as he presses closer; it can't be only from the rain and the chill in the air. She's afraid.
"...my mother…"
"Your mother did this to you?" His eyes darken with reproach, and though he's only met this young girl, he has half a mind to speak with her mother and advise she'd do well never to harm her daughter again unless she'd like to receive the same torment she's insisted on doling out.
As the young girl nods, Robin takes a breath, and as it puffs out a white cloud that caresses her cheek, he whispers softly, "I'm Robin of Locksley."
Her eyes finally lift, as though to search his, and he offers only comfort now in his eyes, rather than anger. "I'm...Regina."
He doesn't care why her mother hit her like this, only that she did it at all. Nothing could warrant striking such an innocent creature like this. Her mother has made her hunch her shoulders and seek the comfort of shadows, as though she feels like it's all she deserves and all she'll ever know, and he can't stand the thought of that.
"Why did you hide here, Regina?" He pulls back the cloth, relieved to see the flow of blood beginning to wane.
"I didn't have anywhere else to go," she admits quietly.
"You could run. Come with me," he surprises himself by offering, but she stiffens, and there's panic in her eyes.
"I can't. She'll find me," she shakes her head. "She has magic, Robin. You don't understand…"
Magic is something he doesn't dare meddle with, and he rather loathes it. He's cocky in many ways, but he knows his limits, and magic is something he can't contend with. But that doesn't mean he'll give up completely.
"I'll stay here until the rain stops, I'll leave before sunrise, and then...I'll come back. When I return, I'll be prepared. I can take you from this."
"...How?"
"Leave that to me," he smiles confidently, feeling more invigorated now that he has a mission of sorts. He has absolutely no idea how to go up against anyone with magic, but he's also clever, and given enough time, he can figure something out. He has to. He's drawn to this girl for some reason, and even though she can't be more than fifteen, only a few years younger than him, he feels as though he's known her for a long time; when their eyes meet, something stirs in his heart, and he knows he has to protect her.
"Why are you doing this?" She whispers, and he pulls back the cloth again, glad to see the blood's stopped.
He reaches out to cup a hand to her cheek, a faint smile curving his lips upward. "I want to know what it's like when the light returns to your eyes. I want to see that, and you deserve it."
He's a damned fool to promise anything to her, because he can hurt her, he knows he can the moment a ghost of a smile curves her own lips. But he'll do anything to see it brighten and linger because happiness has settled in her heart again.
"Thank you," she squeezes his hand in gratitude.
He lets the bloodied cloth fall to the ground and then shifts to sit beside her, shoulder pressed to hers. For many long moments, they're only exchanging breaths as the rain beats heavy against the roof. But then her head comes to rest on his shoulder, and it takes him a full minute to realize he should shift and wrap an arm around her shoulders.
Maybe this is all he can give her, just the comfort of someone caring for one night, and maybe he should tell her the truth, that there's a good chance he'll never be back.
But then the rhythm of her breathing starts to match his, and she's more relaxed, and he never wants anyone to take this away. She falls asleep, and he only lightly dozes, mostly keeping watch. Just before sunrise, he carefully shifts, bunching up his cloak so it's a makeshift pillow, and then he guides her down to rest there, stroking a few strands of hair back from her eyes.
Leaning in to kiss her forehead, he whispers, "I'll come back. Don't let go."
And then he leaves, opting not to take one of the horses lest she incur any punishment for it.
He follows the path of the sun rising across the meadow, tucking the memory of her breaths beating in time with his own into his heart, promising himself he'll find her again.
He'll come back.
