For some reason, as he crept closer, he wondered if this is what Will Scarlet had felt, sneaking down the hallway toward Roger de Lacy’s office.

Step by step the sounds grew. More shuffling, the creak of wood, a brushing noise. When they came to an abrupt end, William froze, one foot in midstep, hovering over his next footfall. He opened his mouth to breathe out, and cursed the imperceptible stretching sound of his leather belt.

Then, low and warbling, a whistle came from the room.

William answered with the same call.

“William?”

The door opened drastically, shattering the pause, and Robin was there with a small metal lantern and that smile.

“Robin. Thank God you’re here.” William grabbed him, pounding his back with his fists, laughing. Just like that, and suddenly the large dark castle was safety. “Are you alone?”

“What? Yes,” Robin answered. “I’ve been here a few days. I was starting to think you wouldn’t show. Last night’s moon looked full to me.”

“A few days? How many? Two days? Three?”

“Last night was my fourth night here. I…” he raised his finger, moving back inside, “… am ready to leave. Glad I didn’t have to go and rescue you.”

William laughed, having just climbed the outside of the castle to perform a rescue of his own.

“Come here, take a look at this.”

There were more candles lit inside the room, which seemed unremarkable. More rubble, burnt leftovers of furniture, an open and scorched chest on the floor, all the makings of the rather ordinary.

“This was all mine,” Robin said, tapping his fingers on various bits. “Obviously I kept it in better condition, but this was my room.”

“It’s a good thing you weren’t here when this happened,” William offered, not sure what else to say.

“No, that’s not what I mean. This was my room, from the day I left. It hasn’t changed. He kept my room the same as when I left it.” He dragged his fingers through the ash in the chest and let it trail off. Then he turned and grabbed something from the corner. “Look at this.”

At first William couldn’t tell what it was, a twisted mess of corners. It was a wreath, made entirely of metal, with delicate craftsmanship. A circlet of metal leaves that wove around each other, and underneath the age and soot were golds and reds and browns.

“I found it in a pile of ash, practically buried in the corner,” Robin said. “He had this made for me when I was young. He told me it was about making mistakes. Or something.”

“Mistakes?” William asked, inspecting it. “Looks quite well-made to me.”