The dull wintry sun had begun to rise, and the horse and his passengers were already out of the Royal Forest of Sherwood. They stayed close to the old Roman road, but did not travel on it. The rider had slung the deer carcass over the horse's haunches, and he now carried a wounded woman in his arms.
The rider glanced behind him, checking on the deer. He replayed the night's events in his mind and he flushed with a twinge of excitement. The corner of his mouth turned upward in a grin, and he had a immeasurable feeling of ease that he had not had since...
She was wrapped in his warm cloak, her wounded leg swaddled in a piece off the hem of her skirt. The woman emitted a strange heat, that it seeped through the thick cloak and into his own body, warming him also. Her face was turned into his chest, protected from the cold, February winds. She shifted, and he looked down, the young woman opened her eyes a little and squinted at him.
"Hello..." she croaked.
"Hello," hesaid, his face expressionless, and looked to the path again. He could feel her unwavering gaze on him, her brown eyes penetrating, almost as if she knew his secrets. All of his secrets.
"Dost thou have any water?" she asked, and he removed his arm from across her legs and reached for his water pouch that hung from the saddle. He grasped it, and could feel that the water had frozen, and the pouch was swollen with ice.
"Horse, whoa," he pulled on the reigns, halting the horse. Then, he scooted back on the saddle and propped the girl there, making sure she wouldn't tumble over. He dismounted and lifted her down, setting her on a nearby rock. He sat beside her and grabbed a fist full of snow with his bare hands, holding his hands together trying to melt it. The rider saw her watching and said, as if teaching her, "Tha must not eat the snow, for all tha will get is more air then water."
She took up some snow herself and started melting it in her hands, "Then how dost thou drink it?"
"Like this," he said, putting his wrists against his bottom lip and funneling the cold snow-water into his mouth.
"Oh," she said, doing the same. He got up and rummaged through the saddle bags attached to the horse's worn brown saddle. Then, he brought out a sack of grain, and began feeding the horse, scratching it under the the chin as he ate, and whispering praises and kind soothing words into his ear.
"Why dost thou call him Horse?" the woman asked, drinking some more water from her hands. The man was startled at this question.
"Huh? Oh, because that is his name."
"Horse?" she looked at him skeptically.
"I don't know his real name, so I just call him Horse. Our partnership works just fine," he said in a monotone voice.
"Dost thou have a name?" He seemed to not have heard, because he shoved the empty sack back into the saddlebag compartments, and came to her, picking her up again.
"Tha doesn't have to pick me up all the time," she said, her brow furrowing.
"Thou art incapable of walking, I do point out, and anyway, thou art no weight," he said, lifting her onto the horse's back and hefting himself up. She fell silent at this comment, and they rode without speaking for a while.
"The people are starving, and so am I," she said. The rider was startled once again.
"Huh?"
"I deprive myself for the people of Barnsdale."
"And who is depriving them of their nourishment?" he asked, watching a lone gray cedarbird flit from a tree to a boulder.
"The Prince."
The rider glanced behind him, checking on the deer. He replayed the night's events in his mind and he flushed with a twinge of excitement. The corner of his mouth turned upward in a grin, and he had a immeasurable feeling of ease that he had not had since...
She was wrapped in his warm cloak, her wounded leg swaddled in a piece off the hem of her skirt. The woman emitted a strange heat, that it seeped through the thick cloak and into his own body, warming him also. Her face was turned into his chest, protected from the cold, February winds. She shifted, and he looked down, the young woman opened her eyes a little and squinted at him.
"Hello..." she croaked.
"Hello," hesaid, his face expressionless, and looked to the path again. He could feel her unwavering gaze on him, her brown eyes penetrating, almost as if she knew his secrets. All of his secrets.
"Dost thou have any water?" she asked, and he removed his arm from across her legs and reached for his water pouch that hung from the saddle. He grasped it, and could feel that the water had frozen, and the pouch was swollen with ice.
"Horse, whoa," he pulled on the reigns, halting the horse. Then, he scooted back on the saddle and propped the girl there, making sure she wouldn't tumble over. He dismounted and lifted her down, setting her on a nearby rock. He sat beside her and grabbed a fist full of snow with his bare hands, holding his hands together trying to melt it. The rider saw her watching and said, as if teaching her, "Tha must not eat the snow, for all tha will get is more air then water."
She took up some snow herself and started melting it in her hands, "Then how dost thou drink it?"
"Like this," he said, putting his wrists against his bottom lip and funneling the cold snow-water into his mouth.
"Oh," she said, doing the same. He got up and rummaged through the saddle bags attached to the horse's worn brown saddle. Then, he brought out a sack of grain, and began feeding the horse, scratching it under the the chin as he ate, and whispering praises and kind soothing words into his ear.
"Why dost thou call him Horse?" the woman asked, drinking some more water from her hands. The man was startled at this question.
"Huh? Oh, because that is his name."
"Horse?" she looked at him skeptically.
"I don't know his real name, so I just call him Horse. Our partnership works just fine," he said in a monotone voice.
"Dost thou have a name?" He seemed to not have heard, because he shoved the empty sack back into the saddlebag compartments, and came to her, picking her up again.
"Tha doesn't have to pick me up all the time," she said, her brow furrowing.
"Thou art incapable of walking, I do point out, and anyway, thou art no weight," he said, lifting her onto the horse's back and hefting himself up. She fell silent at this comment, and they rode without speaking for a while.
"The people are starving, and so am I," she said. The rider was startled once again.
"Huh?"
"I deprive myself for the people of Barnsdale."
"And who is depriving them of their nourishment?" he asked, watching a lone gray cedarbird flit from a tree to a boulder.
"The Prince."