Robin stared at her, and then blinked twice.
Marian stood there, arms akimbo, her pointed nose stuck out defiantly, sprinkled with cinnamon speckles. Her wide, commanding eyes blazed as they quietly appraised Robin. They took note of his dirty brown boots, naturally decorated with peach strands of dead grass, his dark brown breeches of rough material, and his light green tunic of velvet. They wandered up to his unkempt hair, which vaguely resembled a bird's nest.
Then her inquisitive eyes met the sparkling, green, speckled eyes of Robin. He stared in return, as if peering into her soul and trying to analyze the brazen young girl dressed in rags, with the air of a princess. She coolly lifted an eyebrow, breaking the spell that had been cast between them. He coughed subtly and stepped back.
"I wasn't aware that you were a prisoner in my camp," he murmured, turning to Little John for confirmation. John twirled his colossal beard around a long, thick finger, causing a maelstrom of dust to emerge, along with leaves, twigs, and rabbit meat from yesterday's stew.
"Well," he began, wrinkling his nose, "we can't very well release her now, robin. She knows the location of our camp. We've just got to hold her captive for a while."
"And mebbe hold 'er fo' ransum!"
The suggestive voice was of Michael, an eager young man who was rubbing his dirty hands together with glee at the thought of the twinkling, glorious gold that could be obtained. He, like many other of the merry men in the camp, had sneaked back out of his tent and eavesdropped on Robin, Marian, and Little John. Michael had joined the merry men in hope for adventure, money, and revenge for the death of his little sister. She had died of a cold after a new law, made by King John, refused medical attention to peasants.
Marian snapped to attention. "Me? A ransom? Don't be a fool! Speaking of fools, you! Little John, is it? I'm just a woman who wandered through the woods; I'm no threat to you men. Release me immediately and I'll forget about this entire incident."
"You call yourself a woman? Why, you're no more than a child," Robin retorted. Little John slyly stepped back; after arguing with Marian, he knew how fiery her temper could become when agitated.
"You call me a child? I'm fifteen years old, don't you dare call me a child. Who are you to talk about adults and children anyway? You must be no more than eighteen yourself!"
Robin looked furious. Age had always been a sensitive issue for him, Little John thought to himself, as Robin strode towards Marian and passed her until he was directly behind her.
"My age is no business of yours. Little John is correct. You are a threat to my men, and any threat to my men is a threat to me. Michael, Charles, please escort Miss Marian to a spare tent, if there is one. If there is not, simply tie her to a tree."
Marian gasped as Robin pointed past the weapons rack to an old forest tree surrounded by a vulgar amalgamation of fungus and squished insects. Her eyes darted around, taking in everything, when she noticed the weapons rack. Hung up on the rack were a few weapons, including swords, bows and arrows, and spears.
Charles and Michael reluctantly stepped forward, past their tents, nearing Marian. In Michael's hand was a long, bulky rope with thick gnarled knots.
"We're sorry, miss," Charles muttered, face down, while Michael grabbed her arm. She forcefully yanked it away, knocking Robin down with the force, and made a dash for the rack. Her scrappy, dirty slipper flapped against the ground as she sprinted, eventually kicked off her feet, one landing next to a tent and another knocking a curious man on the forehead. As soon as she made it to the old, splintery rack, she grabbed a sword by its handle and faced her attackers.
Charles and Michael both took a step back, and peeked hesitantly at Robin and Little John. Little John was commanding a few men to guard the other side of the weapons rack, ordering others to form a ring around the camp, and grabbing another rope for himself. The swift-footed Robin leaped towards Michael and Charles, and snatched the rope out of their hands.
"I warn you, I know how to use this weapon, and I'm not afraid to."
As if to show her skill, Marian tossed the sword up once, and caught it as it twirled through the air. Men who had been chuckling at her ceased, some even grabbing their own knives and daggers. Robin, who saw this, raised one hand.
"Stop, Lady Marian. You're only making it worse for yourself," he warned, while stepping closer to her. Marian moved closer to Robin, the sword outstretched. Before he could move, she stepped forward, thrust the sword towards the rope in his hands, and cut it swiftly in two. Robin raised his eyebrows. Tension grew in the air, and the men around him armed themselves. Then, through the silence, Little John softly chuckled. His chuckles became loud and resonant, until they morphed into full, contagious guffaws. The other men, hearing this, realized what fools they had been, prepared to attack a fifteen year old girl. Robin, too, lowered his hands.
"Lady Marian, I apologize. As long as you are in my camp, you will not be a prisoner. But try to leave, and we will hunt you down."
Marian seemed to relax. Then suddenly, she lunged forward and threw the sword directly at Robin's chest.
Marian stood there, arms akimbo, her pointed nose stuck out defiantly, sprinkled with cinnamon speckles. Her wide, commanding eyes blazed as they quietly appraised Robin. They took note of his dirty brown boots, naturally decorated with peach strands of dead grass, his dark brown breeches of rough material, and his light green tunic of velvet. They wandered up to his unkempt hair, which vaguely resembled a bird's nest.
Then her inquisitive eyes met the sparkling, green, speckled eyes of Robin. He stared in return, as if peering into her soul and trying to analyze the brazen young girl dressed in rags, with the air of a princess. She coolly lifted an eyebrow, breaking the spell that had been cast between them. He coughed subtly and stepped back.
"I wasn't aware that you were a prisoner in my camp," he murmured, turning to Little John for confirmation. John twirled his colossal beard around a long, thick finger, causing a maelstrom of dust to emerge, along with leaves, twigs, and rabbit meat from yesterday's stew.
"Well," he began, wrinkling his nose, "we can't very well release her now, robin. She knows the location of our camp. We've just got to hold her captive for a while."
"And mebbe hold 'er fo' ransum!"
The suggestive voice was of Michael, an eager young man who was rubbing his dirty hands together with glee at the thought of the twinkling, glorious gold that could be obtained. He, like many other of the merry men in the camp, had sneaked back out of his tent and eavesdropped on Robin, Marian, and Little John. Michael had joined the merry men in hope for adventure, money, and revenge for the death of his little sister. She had died of a cold after a new law, made by King John, refused medical attention to peasants.
Marian snapped to attention. "Me? A ransom? Don't be a fool! Speaking of fools, you! Little John, is it? I'm just a woman who wandered through the woods; I'm no threat to you men. Release me immediately and I'll forget about this entire incident."
"You call yourself a woman? Why, you're no more than a child," Robin retorted. Little John slyly stepped back; after arguing with Marian, he knew how fiery her temper could become when agitated.
"You call me a child? I'm fifteen years old, don't you dare call me a child. Who are you to talk about adults and children anyway? You must be no more than eighteen yourself!"
Robin looked furious. Age had always been a sensitive issue for him, Little John thought to himself, as Robin strode towards Marian and passed her until he was directly behind her.
"My age is no business of yours. Little John is correct. You are a threat to my men, and any threat to my men is a threat to me. Michael, Charles, please escort Miss Marian to a spare tent, if there is one. If there is not, simply tie her to a tree."
Marian gasped as Robin pointed past the weapons rack to an old forest tree surrounded by a vulgar amalgamation of fungus and squished insects. Her eyes darted around, taking in everything, when she noticed the weapons rack. Hung up on the rack were a few weapons, including swords, bows and arrows, and spears.
Charles and Michael reluctantly stepped forward, past their tents, nearing Marian. In Michael's hand was a long, bulky rope with thick gnarled knots.
"We're sorry, miss," Charles muttered, face down, while Michael grabbed her arm. She forcefully yanked it away, knocking Robin down with the force, and made a dash for the rack. Her scrappy, dirty slipper flapped against the ground as she sprinted, eventually kicked off her feet, one landing next to a tent and another knocking a curious man on the forehead. As soon as she made it to the old, splintery rack, she grabbed a sword by its handle and faced her attackers.
Charles and Michael both took a step back, and peeked hesitantly at Robin and Little John. Little John was commanding a few men to guard the other side of the weapons rack, ordering others to form a ring around the camp, and grabbing another rope for himself. The swift-footed Robin leaped towards Michael and Charles, and snatched the rope out of their hands.
"I warn you, I know how to use this weapon, and I'm not afraid to."
As if to show her skill, Marian tossed the sword up once, and caught it as it twirled through the air. Men who had been chuckling at her ceased, some even grabbing their own knives and daggers. Robin, who saw this, raised one hand.
"Stop, Lady Marian. You're only making it worse for yourself," he warned, while stepping closer to her. Marian moved closer to Robin, the sword outstretched. Before he could move, she stepped forward, thrust the sword towards the rope in his hands, and cut it swiftly in two. Robin raised his eyebrows. Tension grew in the air, and the men around him armed themselves. Then, through the silence, Little John softly chuckled. His chuckles became loud and resonant, until they morphed into full, contagious guffaws. The other men, hearing this, realized what fools they had been, prepared to attack a fifteen year old girl. Robin, too, lowered his hands.
"Lady Marian, I apologize. As long as you are in my camp, you will not be a prisoner. But try to leave, and we will hunt you down."
Marian seemed to relax. Then suddenly, she lunged forward and threw the sword directly at Robin's chest.