The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3)(16)

“Yes.” He tilted his head. “I thought you were eavesdropping.”

Marian’s brow knitted in confusion.

“There is no one better than me at glamour.” He grinned. “Go ahead, you can tell me how amazing I am.”

She pressed her lips together, no doubt holding back the praise he deserved, and huffed out a breath before resolutely returning to her gathering. Satisfaction eased the rest of the ebbing pain in his leg as her hands turned red from the cold, her body shivering despite her obvious attempts to stop it. He was just working up something mocking to say when he noticed Marian’s nostrils flaring as she bent to slide her hand over the ground.

Now what does she remind me of?

Realization struck and Robin leapt to his feet, pitching to the side as his leg protested the interruption to its healing process. He shifted the majority of his weight to his other foot in time to keep from toppling over and pointed at Will. “Stay here with our guest, I’m going to check on Little John and see what’s keeping dinner.”

The spriggan rolled his eyes. “Yes, because he so enjoys your help when he’s trying to hunt. Try not to fall in the river this time.”#p#分页标题#e#

Robin ignored the jibe and bounded off into the forest, brushing away tree branches that welcomed him like long lost friends, leaves caressing him as he passed. It didn’t take long to find his friend. Little John was predictable in his hunting ground, favoring the area around a small waterfall even when he was hunting for meat other than fish.

Robin caught up with him not more than thirty yards from said waterfall. Little John was just heading back toward the clearing, once again in human form, though his clothes were mere tatters now that he’d shifted in them. He carried a deer over his back, barely hunched under what had to be considerable weight. The gentle giant’s brown eyes didn’t exactly light up to see Robin coming toward him, but he gave a good-natured sigh and slowed to let Robin match his pace.

“If you’re here to help me hunt, you can see I’ve alr—”

“What is she?”

Little John hefted the carcass a little higher on his shoulders, but didn’t stop walking. “What?”

“What is she? The woman—Marian.”

A bushy brown eyebrow rose. “She’s a woman.”

Robin pressed his lips together and pivoted to stand in front of Little John, forcing him to stop walking or risk trampling him. Little John hesitated with his foot in the air, hovering between stopping and taking another heavy step. His weight rocked precariously then settled back as he put his foot down and visibly resigned himself to finishing the conversation.

“Your senses are keen, Little John, more so than my own. It is one of the few ways in which you are superior to me—the only way, in fact. Are you telling me that Marian has played you and your senses for a fool? Did you truly believe she was merely human?”

“Your arrogance aside, I feel no shame in telling you that my superior senses did not betray your guest as anything but human.” The deer sagged in his grip and he absently heaved it higher again, jostling the weight until it was balanced more securely on his shoulders. “Though she does wear a little too much perfume. Rosemary, I think. What is it that makes you so certain she’s not human?”

“Humans don’t sniff for gold coins under a layer of snow.”

It was a tribute to the longevity of their acquaintanceship that Little John didn’t seem at all surprised at the mention of snow in midsummer. Instead he stared off into the forest, eyes growing hazy with thought. “Did the snow show up before or after you scattered the coins?”

“After.”

“Then she’ll have a tougher time of it. A scent over snow can be easier to track, with the cold preserving the scents and there being fewer scents to compete with it on the frosty ground. But fresh snow over a scent can make it—”

“I don’t care if she finds the coins or not.” Robin started to pace, then winced as his leg screamed in protest. He settled for drumming his fingers against his arm. “I care about the fact that the woman is scenting the ground for the coins—like a dog.”

“Or a bear,” Little John pointed out.

“You think she’s a bear?”

“She doesn’t smell like a bear.”

Frustration plucked at his nerve endings and Robin rubbed a hand over his face. “You are trying my patience.”

That drew a snort from Little John and he resumed his procession to the clearing. “Not so funny when you’re on the other end, is it?”