Marion had exhausted her last bits of time trying to group people together, hoping to aim them in safe directions. Most were gone already, including the families that kept to themselves. Those who had not yet left would depart by morning.

Arthur and David, bless their hearts, had stuck it out to the last. They kept the fire hot, they helped the others pack, without judgment. Even now, Arthur brought her an extra blanket for her legs, for which she quietly thanked him. He ground his jaw and breathed in heavily, stepping back as if he knew it was the last task he’d ever do for her. Those two would pick their own way tomorrow, as they’d done before Locksley.

In some morbid way, she’d been successful. She had wanted to build a community of people who had a say in their own governing, who could choose their own futures. As they scattered now into the wind, their decisions were at least their own. No master to protect them meant no one to save them, either.

Whatever it was she and Lord Walter had tried to do, this was the cruelest version of it.

Marion closed her eyes and surrendered to her limitations. Her muscles went limp, and she could feel neither the warmth of the fire nor the bite of the cold night. She gave everything she could. She tried to hold onto the small morsels of advice Tuck had given her, despite her own constant shortcomings.

She didn’t want an answer, or a sign, and she prayed for nobody’s safety or health. All she did was offer herself.

She prayed there was some greater plan, some greater power, that she simply hadn’t seen yet.

And she prayed she’d be wise enough to recognize it when it came.

Perhaps the wind stilled just a bit, or perhaps the fire glowed brighter for a moment, or perhaps the sighs of the woods all found the slightest peace at the same time, but Marion felt that there could still be some hope. Beneath it all, there had to be hope.

“Hullo, boys! You’ll never believe who I found!”

The voice was Alan-a-Dale’s, returning from deep within the woods. Stomping loudly. He was not alone.

When he was close enough to the fire to be seen, he dropped his pack to the ground and winked. Behind him were a handful of those who had left in the last few days, led by none other than Robin of Locksley.

Marion’s stomach leapt, though she couldn’t tell if it was furious or excited. Thankfully she refrained from any outward reaction. Robin didn’t deserve that.

His face was simple, earnest. Humility was not a face she’d seen on him before. “I heard about Bernesdale,” he said.