Below, Little’s hand touched Robin’s leg, softly. He looked scared, his big eyes locked hard. No longer a giant, he was just an old man stuck in a river. Little gave a curt shake of his head, a warning that said, Don’t.

Robin hadn’t dropped the branch yet. “You’re a cocky little thing.”

“I know when I’m right.”

“You do this a lot, I imagine?” Eyes still on John, who squinted at him and nodded his head harder, telling him to drop the branch. “Not a bad living if you can keep it up?”

“Stalling to catch your breath?”

“Most people don’t put up too much of a fight? Aren’t expecting it?”

“I’m hungry.” This one was a threat. Robin looked down, hoping for a shadow or reflection to give away Will’s stance, but he was just a whisper in Robin’s ear and a knife in his back, nothing more.

“Unfortunately, I’ve actually traveled quite a distance just to find you,” Robin said. “Didn’t think you’d make it easier by coming out and greeting me like this.”

“What does the king’s personal guard want with me? Recruitment?” Will’s blade wasn’t the only thing that was sharp. He had remembered one of the first things they’d said, even after a painful blow to the head. This may not end well, Robin realized.

He decided to turn left.

“Now hold your say a moment,” John interrupted, and started the labor of rising to his feet. “Seems we’re at a bit of a misintroduction. What was your name?”

Robin hesitated, but was fairly certain William had already said it aloud earlier. There was no point in lying. “Robin,” he said, intentionally leaving out his surname.

“You say you know King Richard?”

“Well enough,” Robin answered cautiously.

Little wiped some blood from his nose and let the water take it. “You a knight?”

Definitely not. Knights are worth ransoms. “No, an archer.”

Something important passed between John and Will.

From behind, Will’s voice. “Your name’s Robin, and you’re an archer in the war.” It wasn’t a question. Robin had given up only two bits of information, but they knew exactly who he was. He felt very much at a disadvantage, mostly because he was.

But John just shook his head. His dark green tunic clung desperately to his skin, the fur lining his collar now matted black. “Scarlet, stow your metal.”

There was hesitation. “They’re not satisfied yet.”

“Stow them.” The edge disappeared from the small of Robin’s back. A few splashes meant Will, or Scarlet, was retreating to the banks. Little tugged on Robin’s branch and forced his help in rising, then chucked the branch into the middle of the river where it quietly floated downstream.

They moved out of the water, slowly. “You’re a long way from the war,” John said.