She made an effort to leap forward—swayed—and fell her full length upon the grass.
The Queen, softly replacing her blade, stood staring down. No sound or movement followed on the fall. Stooping, she gazed long and silently into the thin face, then, without a word, turned and retreated as she had come.
The boy was standing, white and tearless, by his dead rabbit as she parted the leaves and slunk forth.
“Go to thy mother, child,” she whispered, hoarse and small. “She is ill.”
Maid Marian
“Master Kay, are you my friend?”
“Hear me vow it, madam.”
“Alas! what vow?”
“That I am your friend.”
“Can you so perjure yourself? Are you not the King’s friend?”