He glanced back with an exultant lift of the chin.
“They shoot like townsmen, and it is all down hill. Skim, swallow, skim!”
“In the oak woods we’ll make a maze for them.”
“Let me but cut a quarterstaff, and I’ll thank any five of them to come within striking distance. Jump, jump—a ditch!”
They leapt it together, and an arrow struck a thorn bush near them on the farther bank.
“The luck is with us!”
“I could sing, but breath is precious! Ah, Master Fierceheart, my pride flies with yours!”
He swerved close in, so that their shoulders touched.
“Isoult, when did it begin with you?”
“Ah—when! And with you?”