John brought another man into the make-shift shelter. The man's arm was badly injured, it looked to be the result of a well-aimed sword. John supported the man's weight as he guided him to an empty spot on the ground. Fanny immediately started tending to his arm, examining the wound and tutting at the shirt the man had inexpertly wrapped over it. John was learning tutting was a good sign. It usually meant superficial damage, cuts easily cared for and quickly healed. When they had first started bringing the wounded to Fanny and Mara, there was a lot of somber quiet.

Some of the men, and women, they found had been gravely, gravely hurt. In some cases, the only thing to be done was to make them as comfortable as possible and call for Friar Tuck to tend to their souls. By the end of the first day, John thought Fanny might never smile again. After the initial flood of the badly wounded came the less badly injured though. Here, Mara and Fanny were able to help. Fanny was busy, fussing over the arm and talking to the man when John noticed Mara. She was changing the bandages on another man's back, gently tending to where the skin had been badly burned in the fire.

John noted her hands were chapped and raw from her constant cleaning and washing in boiling water. He also noted her trying not to look distracted. It was clear, however, that her mind was elsewhere. John knew Mara was worried about Wulf, but that her concern for her nephew was not what preoccupied her mind.

It had grown increasingly difficult to deny the reality that Mara was growing up. John had always pictured her as the same awkward child he had left at Fanny's side all those years ago. In his absence, though, she had grown into a young woman. He understood somewhere in his being that she would not remain a child in his home forever, no matter how much he wished it. It was natural that she should marry and start her own life in her own home. However, knowing and accepting are two very different things.

Seeing the way she and Will had looked at each other troubled him. The memory of the two of them, standing before him soaking wet and, he assumed, holding hands, still made him feel hot with anger and frustration. John couldn't pinpoint any specific thing that made him uneasy about Will, but he rather wished Mara was worrying about any other person taken by the sheriff.

It had not always been so between John and Will. He had grown to trust and rely on the boy when he joined the band of outlaws. For certain, Will had been filled with bitterness and malcontent, but John had always attributed it to hard circumstances in an already unhappy youth. The arrival of Robin of Locksley had brought out aspects of Will's character that exceeded John's worst fears.

As he reflected, Mara stood at the fire with her back towards him. John walked towards her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. He wished to say something to comfort her, but nothing seemed appropriate. Mara met his gaze, and tried to give a smile, grateful for the gesture.

"Rest for a moment." he bade her. John put his great arm about his sister's shoulder, and she found herself melting into his comforting and secure presence. He guided her towards the edge of the camp where the fresh water was being collected and stored. Mara took the opportunity to wash her face and take a drink. It would be some time before she ever felt she fully washed away the acrid taste of smoke and smell of burnt hair and flesh.