Inspired by: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/3867436/


"I...know you." Whispered the feline nervously, his voice peppered in terror, trembling as it whispered past his lips into the chilled evening air. He could not stop his feet from shaking, not the beads of sweat that snaked from his brow, past his fancy monocle and trickled down his neck.

"Yo, you are the ghost. You are the outlaw. A murderer to those whom line their pockets "He sputtered, tears beginning to tread freely from his eyes. He was going to die. To be plundered alone in this forest on his way through England and left to rot and wither with no memory or discovery. He had been ambushed and backed against a tree; it's rough bark pinning him from movement from behind while the decidedly deadly point of the fox's arrow pointed at his throat kept him from moving forward. The arrow pressed mercilessly into his neck, until a gentle scarlet bloom rose and splashed the coloring into his alabaster fur.

The fox was stoic where he stood, a marksman of renown, the arrow did not waver from it's perch nor stray from it's intended target: The feline's throat.

"I am Robin of Locksley." The fox whispered; his voice ragged and a distinct lack of sleep gave it an ominous heft of weight, but it came across crisp and clear to the noble cat's ears.

The fear that rippled through the trembling feline was all but crippling; all but dastardly in it's fiendish robbery of his senses and movements. He was paralyzed and silenced, unable to flee from this rogue if he wanted and too terrified to shriek for help. The only word he managed to squeak past dry, chapped lips, was the only one he could think of: "Please."

For a brief, undeniable moment- a spark of kindness glimmered in the fox's steeled eyes and the feline felt a flicker of hope dance in his soul. The arrow lowered from his neck with a resolute decision, and that flicked danced into a flame.

"You will leave this forest." The voice came again, quiet and calculating, steeled with passion and tempered in rage. A quiet voice that rippled shivers down the feline's spine.
"That way." The fox hissed, and for a delicate moment- his eyes twitched in the intended direction. " You leave the carriage you were riding. The riches inside as well as the clothing and the food belong to me now. I will never see you here again." Commanded the voice- confidant and harsh.

With that, the fox took a single step backwards, sending his message loud and clear: This was the feline's one chance. The fat cat noble took it to heart immediately; stumbling a great many steps through brambles and bushes, racing as fast as short, stubby legs would allow him. He wanted to be as far from this wretched forest as possible, and in his pursuit of absolution from the terrible situation, he did not venture a glance back.

The terrible Robin of Locksley had struck once again.