Chapter 1

"Run!!!!"

The gang sprinted for their lives as the thundering of hooves drew closer. The wind whipped past, bitterly cold, as their feet crunched on the late autumn leaves. Their time living in the forest meant they were fast, but no man can outrun a horse, no matter how hard he tries, how fast his feet carry him. They reached a clearing, and instinctively, as one, the outlaws scattered, and threw themselves into hiding places, praying for the best, breathing hard, hearts pounding.

The horses stopped, and Much could see the feet of a solider dismounting. His breathing got heavier and eyes wider as he realised the solider was heading straight towards him, and too late he realised his scarf had come off and was lying directly in front of the hole he was currently crouched in. He watched in horror as the solider got to his knees to pick it up.

"Please don't look up; please don't look up, please…" Too late. The solider had seen him. A triumphant

sneer spread across the soldier's face as he realised that he had caught one of Robin Hood's men. He yanked Much out of his hiding place and dragged him to the clearing, his sword at Much's throat. The other guards laughed and clapped, while the solider who had Much shouted out into the surrounding forest.

"We've got your little friend, Hood! Reveal yourself, or we slit his throat".

"Bugger." Allen muttered to himself.

"What do we do now?"

Why was it always bloody Much? Every single bloody time.

Breathing slowly but steadily, Robin cocked his bow, ready to aim. He had one chance, and it was a difficult shot. He could see the desperate look on Much's face, and didn't have to see the others to know exactly what they would be thinking – if he missed this, Much was finished. His arrow was cocked, and he was about to shoot, when a knife came flying out of nowhere, narrowly avoiding Much, but hitting the solider square in the shoulder. He cried out in pain and stumbled backwards, as Much scrambled away, and the other outlaws looked around in confusion. The source of this confusion leaped out of the branches of a 15 foot oak tree, and landed lightly on the ground, scaring the soldiers out of their wits. The figure stood, wearing a long cloak with a large hood concealing their identity and a mask over the lower half of their face, in the centre of the clearing, holding himself like a king. Shoulders down, back as straight as an arrow, gloved hands resting on knives in their belt.

Much used this lack of concentration to try sneaking away, but one of the guards noticed, and suddenly the guards seemed to regain control of themselves, and within seconds had the figure surrounded. One grabbed Much again, but looked as if he was scared to share the same fate as his comrade, who was lying on they ground, holding his shoulder and groaning in pain as blood dribbled through his fingers. Suddenly the hooded figure spoke, the voice clear and strong.

"Let him go"

The soldier holding Much was visibly trying to arrange his face into a commanding look, and failing miserably.

"Absolutely not. This man is a criminal."

"Let him go now, or I will have no choice but to force you."

The men seemed to have forgotten that they were frightened, now they were over their initial shock, and faced with an enemy roughly the size a teenage boy. "Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?"

One of the soldiers crept carefully up behind the figure, clearly going to attack from behind. The outlaws watched in fascination and amazement as the hooded figure spun around, grabbed the mans wrist and threw him to the floor. It was like a challenge to the soldiers, and they drew their swords and began to attack, seemingly forgetting Much, letting him hobble away on what looked like a nastily injured foot. From their various hiding places, the outlaws watched as the figure drew two swords and, moving as quick as lightning, cut every single soldier down. Who ever it was killed no one, just wounded them enough to be immobile. It was over within minutes, until the mysterious figure was left standing there, surrounded by the wounded, groaning soldiers lying in the dirt.

Taking their cue from Robin, the gang slowly emerged, surrounding the figure, apart from Robin himself, who had gone over to Much –currently lying dazed on the floor, as if he couldn't quite figure out what had just happened. Allan put his bow to the hooded head, wary of anyone, especially someone who'd just taken on a dozen soldiers and won, and immediately got knocked out in return. The swift movement caused the figure's hood to fall, and the mask was pulled down, revealing, to Will and John's amazement, a beautiful, dark haired young woman. She could only have been 18, and looked up at them fiercely, before her brow furrowed in recognition. Before they had time to do anything more than stare in shock, Robin came running up behind them, Much in tow.

"Well, well, well, what do we have…" He stopped, suddenly, when he caught sight of the girl. Suddenly, it was if the others didn't exist. Robin and the girl stared at each other, lost in their own world. The emotions playing across the girls face were as clear as day, in contrast to her previously passive expression. Astonishment melted into horror, which melted then into disbelief. Robin looked at her in disbelief. He felt as though the very ground underneath his feet was giving way. The girl, shaking, stepped back.

"Evie?"

Robins whisper was barely audible. The girl turned and ran, disappearing into the trees. Robin stood shell-shocked for a moment, but quickly regained his senses. He gave chase.

You could have cut the tension with a knife. Sympathy radiated from every single soldier, as they watched the youngest and most inexperienced of them standing, terrified, in the sheriff's firing line. The young soldier had naively informed the sheriff that they had almost caught Robin Hood and his gang, and the others knew from experience that the forced grin stretched on the sheriff's face was a very bad sign.

"Almost? As in, 'I had one of his men in my hands, with a knife to his throat, and he got away?" The soldier, Robert, was shaking, looking any where but at the sheriff. He'd only taken the job to prove to his brother Jacob he was brave enough – it was well known that it was one of the most dangerous jobs a man could do, and that was without the outlaws. Your boss was the one you should be scared of.

"Tell me, why exactly did you feel the need to waste my time telling me this? Hum?" He slid off the desk he had been perched on, and came nose to nose with Robert, who was by now shaking so violently, it was a miracle he was still standing.

"I am going to say this once, and once only." His voice was dangerously quiet, and he paused for full dramatic effect, before screaming into the youngsters' petrified face.

"I do not want to see your little weasel face until you have Robin Hood himself tied up and sitting in my dungeon. I have no interest in your pathetic little stories about how you almost captured Robin Hood – you've mistaken me for someone who cares. Get out!"

Robert stumbled backwards, as if from the force of the sheriff's words, and backed out of the room, followed swiftly by the rest of the guards, who definitely did not want to be in the room if he flared up again. Guy, who had been watching the scene with amusement, stood up from where he'd been leaning, arms crossed, against the wall.

"My Lord, if the gossip around the castle is to be believed, Hood had some sort of assistance from some boy…"

"Oh, shut up Gisbourne. I am sick of hearing that mans name! Just go and…do…something…" The sheriff sank back into his seat, waved Guy away with a careless hand, and got down to the business that was really worrying – the letter in his hand. He sat for a while reading and rereading, tapping his teeth with his quill, the cogs in his head slowly turning, until he smiled, an idea occurring to him. He sat up, and began writing a reply.