Rise of the Wolf by Steven A McKay Page A

needed to find completely new places to hide in now. Thankfully, Robin, although he didn't have the martial training of a knight, had an instinctive understanding of the forest and how to use it properly.
    As ever, Will Scarlet and Little John helped advise their young leader when he found a spot, making sure they had easy access to a little stream for fresh water, while being well hidden amongst the thick foliage of beech, oak trees and lower level bushes, ferns, or long grass. It was not too far from the road between Penysale and Penyston and seemed ideal as there was a local market held close by every Tuesday which would allow the outlaws to collect supplies without having to travel too far afield. The stall-holders and patrons would also, no doubt, be a good source of information on rumours of Gisbourne's whereabouts.
    “We should have stopped using those old camping grounds long ago, when Robin killed Adam,” Little John murmured, lying back contentedly on a brown patch of grass in the middle of their new home. “It feels good to be somewhere different. Even if we're still not in soft beds, with a nice pair of tits to cuddle into.”
    It was an overcast, muggy, spring afternoon, with heavy black clouds covering the sky that threatened to burst and soak the land at any time, but the men had a cosy fire going and the new camp-site gave them a sense of security and safety. The thick trees which encircled them felt more homely than any grey castle wall ever could.
    Robin laughed wistfully at his huge friend's words, appreciating the blunt language and pleasing imagery it conjured. “True, big man, true.”
    “True, perhaps,” Will interjected. “But the men – including me, I admit -  wouldn't have taken kindly to Robin ordering us to give up our old haunts back then. It's a mark of the respect we all have for you now, lad, that you can get us to follow you somewhere new without a shouting match.”
    Not so long ago Robin would have blushed crimson at the praise from the hugely experienced Will, a man who had fought as a mercenary in the Holy Land and seen much death and horror in his thirty-seven years. Now, the outlaw captain simply accepted Will's words with a grateful nod. 
    “Pah, I would have followed him if he'd suggested it,” John snorted, his mouth twitching mischievously. “You lot just like an argument. Bunch of sour-faced lack-wits.”
    Allan-a-Dale and some of the other long-term outlaws bristled at that, shooting insults back at the bearded giant, while the newcomers like Stephen and Edmond, the fish-lipped former tanner from Kirklees, grinned and hoisted their ale mugs aloft in a cheer, enjoying the banter.
    Robin threw John a thankful smile, knowing his friend, despite the humour, spoke the truth. Before he became their leader, the men hadn't completely trusted Robin. John had taken his side right from the start though and the young man would never forget that loyalty.
    “Dinner's ready!” Edmond shouted, taking a last sip of his ale before swapping the wooden mug for a ladle. “Come and get it, lads.”
    Edmond had found it hard at first to settle amongst the close-knit outlaws, who were more like a military order than a random collection of violent criminals. The lads had been welcoming but a lifetime of being bullied and abused by his peers had made it hard for the tanner to lower his defences and build friendships. Men like Robin and Little John had gone out of their way to make the young man, with his thin beard, stumpy limbs and thickset body, feel like one of them.
    More than any of them, though, Friar Tuck had helped Edmond come to terms with the fact he had captured Stephen's master, Sir Richard-at-Lee, and led him to his death on the gallows in Nottingham. Although he had now begun to feel at ease with the outlaws, the tanner felt Tuck's absence from their group keenly.
    “How do you think the friar fares?” he wondered as the men settled down happily to eat the stew he'd made for