It had been a long time since Stutely had field dressed game – probably about as long for Much and Scarlet – but between the four of them they made short work of it, and before long the meat was bagged up and the three of them were trekking after Art through a narrow trail toward his cabin.
Arthur talked animatedly all the while. His conversation veered about unpredictably, a typically Arthur story about his escalating campaign against the grizzly that kept getting into his food stash swerving off into a discomfortingly matter-of-fact account of the feds who'd tried to catch him out by playing at being hunters. Occasionally he'd ask about Robin or Little John with a flash of something like loneliness in his eyes, and for a heartbeat the twenty-year gulf would be starkly apparent; other times he'd drop an incongruous comment (had enough trouble with that cabin door, din' we, Stoots?) that would knock Stutely right out of the conversation, leaving him wondering again if Arthur realised how long he'd been alone.
Isolation will do that to a man. Scarlet's words. But Stutely, who'd been there before, wondered where the line fell between isolation and separation. Arthur only had the one ballad to his name – and, like Stutely's, it needed Robin Hood to give it form. Without the Merry Men, the ballad of Robin and the Tanner was just a punchy, reckless bloke in the forest, possibly thinking about turning poacher.
It turned out the three of them hadn't been too far off the mark. Art's trail led them a short way beyond a small creek and into a clearing with a squat wood cabin (sturdy, Stutely's carpenter's eye couldn't help but note, but oft-patched). There was a ramshackle shed off to one side and a fire pit to the other. Stutely waited till Arthur had it burning and the meat cooking before he cleared his throat.
"Listen, Art," he said. "There... there's some stuff we gotta talk about."