Not much happens, still setting the scene.

Characters belong to Dick Wolf.

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Olivia Benson drew the string back to the corner of her mouth, the wood under her palm stretching and bending to the force. An arrow fletched with grey feathers flew from the string to land high in a thin branch near the top of an oak tree. The thud as it hit the wood echoed in the surrounding forest.

'That was a lucky shot.'

She knocked anther arrow and taking aim hit the same branch. The arrows were close enough that their fletching's touched. She turned with a smile to the speaker, a black man with short coarse hair who was presently scowling at her smile.

'There's nothing lucky about my aim Finn. Perhaps if you bothered to pick up a bow you could learn how to shoot… not as well as me of course, but close.' She laughed, her browns eyes soft, as the scowl deepened on his face.

'I prefer to see a man when I kill him, look in his eyes.' It wasn't that he didn't approve of the English long bow but that born as he was in Holy lands he was more accustomed to the curved scimitar that was belted as his waist.

'I'd hate to ruin your lovely game' their observer chimed in, 'but you do realise you have to get those arrows back.' Olivia turned to the thin, grey haired friar and raised an eyebrow. Without a word she walked to the lower branches of the oak and hoisted herself into the air. As if Munch thought she couldn't climb a simple tree, as if she would waste her arrows. Life in the forest had made her body lean, muscles strong and defined under a skin bronzed from the sun. She reached for the branches above her head and used her bare feet to gain purchase on the bark. She never wore boots in the forest, didn't understand those who did. The feel of dirt under her toes, of bark and grass sticking to the hard skin of her heel; that to her was what life in the forest meant.

Finn looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun, watching as she rose steadily through the leaves, never once doubting her footing. They had meet three years before, out in the Holy land, when she was only twenty two. She was an archer for King Richard, he an assassin for Saladin. By pure chance and by whatever God controlled fate they'd meet in a tavern on the outskirts of Acre. Over their tankards they had revelled in the stories of war, for one night not caring that they sat on opposite sides of the battle field. Finn had confided in her, after ale had loosened his tongue, that he had no idea where he was going, only that he wanted to leave the sand and dust and blood of the holy wars. That was how, for some bizarre reason, an infidel came to be standing in the middle of Sherwood Forest.

Her feet hit the ground once more and she placed the two retrieved arrows in her quiver. She smiled at the two men, so different yet friends, before walking with them back their campsite, hidden amongst the trees.

Their home was built around the roots of a mighty Oak. As the forest floor sloped away in the natural decline of a hill the soil around the Oak's roots was slowly washed away. This left the tree balanced on the brink of a ledge, an overhang of dirt that formed a small hollow in the ground. It could be seen by any who were walking up the hill but not those who walking down. Seeing as a stream ran at the bottom and the road ran at the top it was the perfect place for a camp. Olivia had been living there for three years. After returning from the Holy land to find her home destroyed by the Sherriff of Nottingham she retreated into the forest, choosing to live off the land and act as a thorn in the Sherriff's side to ensure he never forgot his crimes. Finn decided to stay, to live with her, having to nowhere better to be and soon the knowledge of his skill with a dagger and curved sword were legend amongst the north. They had slowly built their home till it resembled somewhere that was perfectly acceptable to live. Brown sacking cloth was tied as an awning at the front of the hollow and the trees roots, hanging down from the ceiling, acted as hooks for their various pots. Sacks filled with straw were their beds, all lined side by side in the hollow and a small fire pit was dug at the entrance. It wasn't much to be fair, but it was their home.

'Is it ready yet? I could eat a horse.' Munch asked as he walked into the camp. A broad shouldered man, with short brown hair raised his head at the question. He was crouched over a cooking pot, balanced on the fire that was bubbling softly, the smell of rabbit stew filling the air.

'You're always hungry,' replied Elliot, 'Where do you even put it?'

'When you're as active as me my friend it's important to get the required nourishment.'

Finn and Olivia chuckled to themselves, as the two men continued to bicker. Walking was about as active as Much like to be and even then if anyone was going to complain it was him. Olivia unbuckled her quiver and unstrung her bow, placing them both at the side of the hollow. A small, thin blond was sleeping inside, wrapped in her cloak. The newest of their band, Olivia didn't quite trust the story she had given the rainy night she appeared, drenched to her skin, but quick to laugh and a skilled hand at medicine Amanda made a useful addition to their camp. Nudging her gently awake with her blackened foot Olivia strode back to fire just in time to receive a bowl of stew from Elliot. The five of them sat as the sun drifted to the horizon. The sky through the trees was filled with dashes of vermillion and amber and the birds were chirping softly amid the leaves. The wind was slightly cold but they were all use to it and talked and laughed and ate till the stars sat high in the sky. They made an unusual band, a royal archer, a Saracen assassin, a friar, a tall muscled man and a blond teenager, but friends they were and the forest was their home.