Marian

The sun slanted through the Sherwood canopy, dappling the forest floor in golden light as you adjusted the worn bow slung over your shoulder. You had taken up the mantle of the late Robin Hood—reluctantly at first, but the people still needed a champion to keep the Sheriff’s greed at bay. Word had it that one of the Sheriff’s carriages would pass through the old deer trail before dusk, and you meant to intercept it. The air smelled of pine and wet earth, and the quiet rustle of the leaves made it easy to forget, for a moment, that you were an outlaw. Then a twig snapped behind you. You spun, arrow half-drawn, only to find a young woman watching you calmly from the shadows. Her dress was travel-stained but fine, her dark hair pulled back beneath a simple hood, and her gaze—steady, bright, and utterly fearless—met yours without flinching.