Robyn and the Hoodettes #JustWriteIt #FreshStart

Chapter 2

Left a bit.

Right a bit.

Bad wobble. Hang on!

Don't fall off! Quick correction.

Onwards the horse galloped, Robyn twisted her grip into its mane. Thump thump, tha-thump, thump. The hooves hitting the ground matched Robyn's pulse. On the animal raced, up into the wooded hills and further into the Shire Wood.

After her initial panic wore off, and she'd not fallen off, Robyn began to notice something of a pattern in the horse's gait and she could anticipate the rhythm of bumps and thumps. Growing more confident as they reached the crest of a hill, she shifted her weight to look back. The hood of her cloak flipped onto her head, blocking the edges of her vision, but she saw enough of Loxley down below.

Free from its harness, the other horse trotted away from the village noise. Relief sagged her body. Maybe the men would chase the other stray horse before they came after her? At least she had a great head start on them.

They did have the bag of grain though; the bag Robyn had left behind in her panic. She could have smacked herself. She had one job, to protect that bag, and she'd failed. Now, through the gap in the trees, she saw what her actions cost. Curse it! A man upended the bag and tipped the seeds all over the ground.

Of all the disrespectful, wasteful things to do! Robyn gritted her teeth in anger and failure. She was in charge of protecting that grain, it might have been all the winter wheat the village had left to plant. She should have hidden it in the shed, but no, she'd left it out in the open.

"You are such an idiot!" she said in a frustrated exhale.

The horse made a weird sound.

"Not you, horse. Me. I'm the idiot."

She couldn't look at the village any more, didn't want to see the wanton destruction. Also, her foot was cold from loosing her boot, but that was the least of her issues right now.

Robyn urged the horse farther into the wood. As the animal slowed to a trot, then walked at an even pace, Robyn's blank, adrenalin-filled head let some proper thoughts through. Useful thoughts. Constructive, practical thoughts.

There was no way those men in the village were real tax collectors. Not with the way they were being so wasteful. After all, would tax collectors demand seventeen marks of wheat, then tip half a mark into the ground? Not likely. Maybe they'd stolen the carriages, then gone on a raiding spree? They were only pretending to represent the Sheriff, so they could take advantage of unprotected villages like hers.

For a moment, smug satisfaction filled Robyn with righteous indignation. Then a new thought crashed hard on the previous one. What if they really had been tax collectors after all? Just a little brutal and stupid about it?

With a sharp intake of breath, Robyn realised she'd stolen a crown horse.

She'd hang for theft if they caught her.

OK, she had to make sure she wasn't caught. Which meant getting off the horse right now. After all, it would be pretty hard to claim you weren't a horse thief if you were caught riding it at the time.

Any stranger would know by her roughly woven clothes and boots­-OK, one boot now-that she was a peasant; the magnificent animal she rode could not possibly belong to her.

Therefore, if she and the horse parted ways, she could wait it out amongst the birch trees and fallen leaves of the Shire Wood, then sneak back to Loxley under cover of darkness. Nobody would be any the wiser.

Her shoulders hitched on an ugly thought. Unless the thieving men . . . who might very well be legitimate tax collectors . . . had seen her face and recognized her?

Wait! Hadn't they called her "lad" at some point?

Maybe they'd be looking for a boy, not a girl?

That could work!

Robyn took her chance and slid off. She landed hard on her bottom and winced with pain. The horse stopped and turned its head, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air.

"You're free now, off you trot."

The horse lifted its top lip and kept sniffing. Then she pushed her lips onto Robyn's head and nibbled at her hair. From her position sitting on the ground, Robyn could clearly see the horse was lacking the necessary equine equipment to be called a boy.

"Get off!" Robyn said, pulling away and smoothing her hair down. Ewwww, horse spit! Her hair clumped into dark ribbons as she tried to clean it. Meanwhile, the beast took a step sideways, but didn't walk off.

"Fine then, I'll go." Robyn rose and had a good look around. In the distance, she heard the splash of a stream over rocks. Water! She was gasping for a drink. The river would be at the bottom of the hill. Walking hurt her one-unshod-foot as mud and sticks jabbed at her sole, but she had tough skin and she could wash her foot in the stream.

Memories of rabbit hunting with her father assailed her. They'd drank where the rabbits drank, knowing the water would be fresh and life-giving. As she neared the river, Robyn's ears pricked up. Hers were not the only footsteps in the woods.

"No way!" she looked back to see the horse following her, like a shadow. "Shoo, shoo!" She waved her arms.

The horse whickered and lifted her head, but didn't go.

"This day gets worse!" Robyn turned her back on the animal and made for the stream. All the exertion had made her thirsty. Maybe the horse was thirsty too? Of course! That must be why it was following her. It had been pulling a carriage all day and had just carried her off into the thickets at a fast clip.

The stream flowed slowly when they reached the banks. Yes, it trickled over rocks but otherwise looked brown and oozy, not at all refreshing. Robyn (with the horse-shadow behind her) kept walking until the water flowed swiftly over rocks. Two startled rabbits darted off. Here the stream looked clear and bright. Refreshing.

Robyn crouched at the bank and began scooping the water into her mouth with her palms, as her father had taught her. It soothed her throat and filled her belly. The horse waded into the water and slurped with contentment.

Taking a moment, Robyn sat on the banks of the river in a pile of dried fallen leaves. Checking her foot, it was dirty but the sticks and stones of the Shire Wood hadn't broken the skin. The horse would find its way home. Didn't they always? Or was that merely one of Grannyma Miller's old sayings? In any case, Robyn had to keep moving. It was too dangerous to risk being found with the animal.

"Thank you for the ride, Horse, but I have to be going. Alone." She followed the riverbank downstream, biding her time until dusk.

Splash, splash, splash-splash.

There were hooves in the water, following her.

"Take a hint, Horse." Robyn waved her arms in the air, trying to shoo her away again.

The horse only stepped closer, nodded her head and then rubbed her cheek against Robyn's arm.

So friendly. Robyn rubbed the horse's nose with affection. "You are a sweet thing, but you're going to land me into trouble."

"I'll say."

A big hand landed hard on her shoulder, anchoring her to the ground.

With a gulp, Robyn turned to face her captor.