The sun was already setting when they reached the village. Edwinstowe was considered one of the gateways to Sherwood Forest and was larger than most county settlements. The loss of one of the grain stores in the storm meant great suffering for the community. As a result, they lost a not inconsiderable part of their grain and could only hope to save a part of it by sowing it quickly to survive the winter.

The sunlight fought its last battle against the rising shadows of night, making the thatched roofs look deceptively idyllic in the orange-gold light.

"This way."

Marian led Robin between the houses hugged by greenery. She knew precisely which cottages she wanted to go to. Since her father had no son or heir to bequeath his belongings to, the young lady had often been at his side when he visited the villages. She was familiar with the people there, knew many by name, and knew who was particularly hard up. The negotiations with Will and John over the stolen money had been tough. Since Marian had left much of her share to the thieves at Sherwood, her haul from this robbery was quite meager.

"No matter what you want to show me, Marian. I stand by my share going in its entirety to the Rebellion. That helps more than a coin, which these fools will probably just throw out at the tavern to drown their sorrows anyway."

Marian rolled her eyes. "People sometimes need more than just a hidden rebellion Robin," she said quietly. Then the footsteps of an approaching farmer alerted her. Hastily she pulled Robin into the sheltering shade between a hut and a thick bush by the side of the path. Fortunately, the man strode past and did not seem to have noticed her.

"Wait here," she murmured, then Marian slipped around the corner to head for the next house. Watchfully, her eyes slid around to ensure no one was paying her attention before Marian deposited the coins on the doorstep and then hurriedly walked back to the hidden thief. Robin was already impatiently playing with a few small stones he had picked up beside the path, throwing them in the air and catching them again. As soon as Marian was back, he took a swing.

The small stone flew through the air in a high arc and then crashed with a dull >>Plock!<< against the boards of the entrance door. Tensely they waited, but it took three more before something finally stirred inside the house.

Only a little later, an emaciated young woman with brown hair emitted a sound somewhere between a sob and a surprised cry. A very twisted sound that could only come from a soul that had already thought it had lost hope of recovery. The baby in her arms began to cry while her husband rushed anxiously from the house to help. While simultaneously trying to calm the child, they both stared at the shiny coins of sterling in hands marked by hard work. That could tide them over for the rest of the month, maybe longer. To whom did they think they owed this good fortune? Was it a gift from God? The Lord God sent words of comfort, perhaps, but no hard cash.

Tears flowed down dirty cheeks. The sobs of joy were mixed with a blissful 'Thank God.' Even the man had tears in his eyes as they embraced each other, and the farmer kissed his wife and child's crested head. "Thank you... Oh, thank you so much..." the mother repeatedly sobbed, pressing the coins to her chest beside her child.

Behind the thicket, Marian and also Robin witnessed the touching scene. Marian sensed the transformation in Robin's demeanor. The impatient thief became silent and seemed frozen, his eyes fixed solely on the image before him. A lump as big as a fist lodged in his throat, and Marian thought she saw his eyes grow moist.

"Why?" it finally broke out of him quietly. The question he had been asking himself far, he had met her in the counter chamber. "I've asked you this before. Why are you doing all this?"

'It's none of your concern.'

'Mind your own business.'

'They taught me to be merciful in the monastery.'

'I just couldn't take it anymore.'

These potential answers were as much lies as they were truth. And although she had rolled them back and forth in her mind a hundred times, the words were suddenly wiped away. Just a few weeks ago, she would indeed not have told Robin.

For many years, she imagined what it would be like to tell this selfish idiot how she had felt and that it would serve him right if he finally fell flat on his face. But now that she was looking at him like this and detecting nothing of arrogance or scorn in his gaze but only honest interest, she couldn't bring herself to strike a blow against him. It suddenly seemed childish and bitter, and she didn't want to be like that. The war and what he had experienced there had probably been punishment enough if the horrors still haunted him in his sleep now.

Her chest felt tight all at once, as if she were wearing one of those fashionable but far too tight bodices from France that cut off her air. "Let's distribute the money first," she said, grateful that Robin must have realized she was not ready to speak. He did not press her. He just looked at her.

Marian was sure Robin had never seen what a little money meant to people in these challenging times. It was not gold, yet they almost fell to their knees in gratitude.

The last dozen copper coins jingled in the bowl of an old man sitting by the roadside. His scrawny fingers reached forward, trembling, and held Marian's hands as he rested his forehead against them. He was incredibly grateful for a few copper coins that could fill his stomach for a few days.

As Marian made her way back, they were silent. The forest embraced them with its impressive vastness, and the benefactors quickly disappeared into its thicket again. They walked side by side silently, and finally, Robin took the lead. It was already dark here in the forest, and wouldn't be long before it was pitch black. Marian was glad because this way, she could try to get a grip on her feelings and memories again. Unseen.

When the two unequal thieves finally reached a large oak tree that stood like a sentinel of the forest in the middle of Sherwood, Robin stopped them by reaching for her hand. They had been silent long enough.

"Marian."

The young woman breathed deeply as her heart beat between pain and joy. As he pushed back the maiden's hood under the long branches of the old oak, moisture glistened on her cheeks, and a telltale glimmer of tears stood in the eyes where he had hoped to find only friends after these deeds.

He slowly raised his hand to place it against her cheek. Gently, his thumb traced the gentle shape of her cheekbones, smudging the damp traces of her sorrow that one could not guess behind the otherwise fiery eyes of the maiden of Nottinghamshire. The thief's hands were rough, marked by many years in the war, by rough gloves and the grips of numerous bows that had shot endless arrows. Then, wordlessly, he pulled her into his arms and pressed her head to his shoulder.

For years, no one had seen her tears. No one had ever wanted to see them.

"What happened, Marian?" murmured Robin's voice softly in her hair. He put his arms around her, hesitantly and carefully at first, but then more firmly. There were so many things unsaid between them. Countless questions without answers provided the possibility of dreams and nightmares. But now was not the moment for that. "What happened while I was away? Why is your heart so attached to your arms?" his voice was gentle.

Marian had never heard Robin speak so carefully. As if he were moving on glass. He held, supported, and lent her his strength to say things she never wanted to let pass her lips again.

And then she spoke the words that had burned on her soul for years like a hellfire that could not be extinguished by any prayer behind convent walls or any words, no matter how well-intentioned:

"The sheriff... He killed her."