By Joan Woodcock
The inn keeper served mugs of ale to the four companions, three of whom were settling in more comfortably at the corner table, sampling the brew.
"Did you notice the gypsies leaving as we came in? There was something strange about them, don't you think, Robin?"
Silence. John repeated his question. Still no answer. Robin was engrossed in watching something through the window.
"Robin?" Marion laid her hand on his arm in question. She could feel the tension coiled in his muscles. "Robin? What is it?" She looked around at John and Tuck with concern. They all recognized the signs with trepidation. Robin was quite sensitive to certain "odd" conditions, a sensitivity Marion always blamed on Olwyn's influence. And something had definitely captured Robin's attention.
Their leader suddenly turned back to his friends, anger changing to bewilderment on his handsome features. "Can you feel that?" He then turned back to the window, his brows still knit in consternation. He could feel it. Something was out there -- waiting for him. But not the man in the window. Something else. More powerful. More alluring. Beckoning to him. He shivered suddenly, feeling as though someone just walked over his grave.
Just then a mournful, feral howl pierced the night air. In an almost hypnotic state, Robin rose to his feet. "Did you notice the moon tonight? It's full and blood red." With that, he slowly walked toward the door.
End of Part Two
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