Gypsy of the Hood

A Ride

I hummed as I walked along the road that, in my opinion passed for nothing more than a deer trail, my bag strapped to my back bouncing with my steps.

Suddenly, my ears picked up a noise besides the birds calling to each other and the rustle of leaves beneath my feet.

Horses’ hooves.

Immediately I was off the road and had one hand on my knife, in case these people were hostile or worse. After a minute they came into sight, six men on horseback, with bows and quivers on their backs and bulging game bags.

I expected them to pass quickly enough, but when he saw me, the front man pulled back on the reigns, stopping the horses and looked down at me curiously.

“Are ya lost ma’am?” He asked in that strong accent that everyone out here seemed to have.

I shook my head that no, I wasn’t lost.

“Do ya need a ride then?” He pressed.

I thought about it and answered, “How far is it to the next village?”

The man who I took to be in his early thirties smiled and said, “’Bout a mile miss.”

I nodded, “Alright, I guess my feet could use a break.”

I swung my self onto the horse when I noticed one of the riders had a deer slung across the back of his horse as part of his catch. I gasped, all the deer in the land belonged to the king; the penalty for killing one was death.

The men laughed at my reaction.

“You’re afraid we’re law breakers aren’t you.” One laughed.

“Well,” Another added, “We technically are. But what fool would abide by the laws we’re expected to follow? ‘Sacrifice everything to the king, starve yourself and your family, live in poverty so the king can feel good about himself, oh, and expect nothing in return.’”

Again, they roared with mirth at the absurdity of it all.

I was about to respond when the man riding in front of me suddenly kicked his horse into a gallop and I yelped, grabbing the back of his shirt to keep from falling off. It had been so long since I’d ridden a horse, but the ground we covered in so little time was a welcome alternative to walking the whole way.

Okay, I realize it was only a mile, but in bare feet, a mile can stretch on forever.

Soon, we came over a hill to be greeted by a village below and I requested to be let down.

“Of course miss.” Was the reply. When my feet touched ground again he asked, “If I might ask, what’s yer name?”

“Lachina.” I said then asking, “Well what’s your name?”

He grinned again, “You may have heard of me.”

“All the more reason to tell me who you are.”

He paused, “Robin. Me name’s Robin.”

I racked my brain as I watched them ride away into the village, but couldn’t bring to light any idea of who this Robin might be.