Rowan Hood Returns by Nancy Springer

they say to you?”
    â€œThe usual. They vouchsafed me riddles.”
    â€œThey did not tell you where Robin Hood is?”
    â€œNo. But ...” Rowan hesitated only a moment; she knew she owed her friends the truth. “But they did tell me one thing plainly. They told me to go back to the rowan grove.”
    No one gasped, but no one spoke either. The silence screamed.
    Rowan said, “I will not go back. I cannot. I must go on. But if any of you wish to turn back, you should do so.”
    Silence lasted just a moment too long before Lionel grumbled, “Don’t talk nonsense, Rowan. How would you get where you’re going without us?”
    â€œI told you before, I will crawl if I need to. Go back if you judge that is what you should do.”
    â€œI’m the one who put this maggot into your mind,” said Etty grimly. “I’m coming with you.”
    â€œOf course I’m coming,” Lionel said. “I’m too big for anyone to harm me.” Not true—they all knew he lived in dread of combat, for if he injured his hands, he might not be able to play his harp anymore. No one smiled.
    Beau glanced from Rowan to Dove and back again. “I go with you,” she said.
    â€œFor Ro’s sake or for the pony’s?” Etty teased.
    â€œBoth!”
    â€œThank you.” Rowan nodded to them, then turned to the one who had remained silent, who usually remained silent. “Rook?”
    He said, “I’m going back.”
    He, the one who respected the aelfe the least, and common sense the most? Those words from Rook took Ro’s breath away.
    Lionel began to bluster. “Rook, how can you—”
    â€œLet him be.” Rowan regained her breath and her voice. “I said if anyone wanted to turn back, they should. Go with my blessing, Rook.”
    With both hands, softly, slowly, Rook drew from under his jerkin the thong from which hung his strand of the gimmal ring. The silver circlet swung in the air, glinting, until he cradled it in the palm of one hand.
    Was he—did he mean to take it off? Was he leaving the Rowan Hood band? Forever?
    Rowan’s heart squeezed. Please, Lady, no, this was all her fault. This could not be happening.
    Rook looked at Rowan, a long, level gaze. Then he turned to Beau, to Etty, and finally to Lionel. He said, “I swore my loyalty to all of you on this.”
    And without another word he placed the silver ring back into his jerkin, over his heart.
    Then he turned, and empty-handed—Rook never carried a bow and arrows, or even so much as a quarterstaff—with no weapon but the knife at his belt, he walked away. Southward.
    Quickly. Rook moved like hawk shadow in the woods. In a moment he was gone from view.
    Â 
    Silently the remaining four prepared to venture northward onto the open moors. Trying not to look like outlaws, Beau and Etty wore the archil tunics over their kirtles. All of them lashed their bows and arrows onto Dove’s baggage behind the saddle. As befit a horseback rider, Rowan wore Etty’s helm, trying to imagine she looked like a squire even though Etty’s cloak covered the rest of her. Once Lionel had set Rowan in the saddle, he helped her arrange the cloak to conceal the outlaw weapons behind her saddle as well. Then, being a minstrel despite having no bright-colored clothing, he took his harp out of its bag and carried it in his hand.
    From atop Dove’s back Rowan looked at all of them: a wolf-dog who followed her when he cared to, and the friends who followed her because they had so chosen—Etty, Beau, Lionel.
    But not Rook.
    Lady be with Rook.
    Ready? her glance questioned the three who remained. They nodded.
    Nudging her heels against Dove’s side, Rowan rode out into the open. Lionel strode past her to lead the way. Beau walked beside Rowan on one side, Etty on the other.
    None of them looked back.
    The sky felt like a great blue eye watching them, Rowan