Untitled Story #3

She nocked another arrow on the string of her bow and readied herself. She tossed her head back, throwing off the hood of her black velvet cloak and pushing back stray curls of her ebony hair. She lifted her bow and drew it, taking steady aim through the trees at her target. She took a deep and steadying breath, preparing herself, and loosed her arrow.

It flew straight and true and did not pause or waver until it found it's target. It splintered the wood of the wheel on the wagon that had been making it's way through the forest to the next city over. It was the tax collection wagon.

This wagon was not heavily guarded and her followers were easily able to overpower the few men on board. They took all the money on the wagon and tied up their captives, then stood at attention awaiting commands.

She slung her bow across her back and made her way through the trees to address her band and to make arrangements for the redistribution of the confiscated capital. She pulled her hood back over her face before breaking through the trees and confronting these bandits of the law, so as to hide her true identity from these men who would gladly see her dead.

She waved for her followers to make the necessary announcements, offers, and threats. Once all was finished and it was determined who would join her, who would return to tell the king of his newest misfortune, and who would never leave the woods she readied herself. Those returning to the palace were released and the remaining made ready to face their fates.

Once she was certain the palace bound officials had departed, she removed her hood once more so these men could see her face. Those who would join her band were led back to the camp and she dispensed of the remaining men personally. She hated this part of her job, but she knew it was entirely necessary for the preservation of her followers.

She left the bodies where she knew palace guards would find them and left her calling card on their chests. A small card of paper with a carefully monogrammed R. Hood on it in the clearly male handwriting of her advisor and friend. She flicked her hood back over her face and retreated into the shadows of the forest around her.