He slipped the blade in between his bonds, hacking away at the tightly wound ropes, muttering harshly to himself as he did so. "Time and time again, and for what? Nothing!"
Anger boiled inside him, even though he knew it was his own fault. He should never have betrayed them, his rage didn't diminish at that fact, it only made him even more tightly strung. He thought he had gained their trust again, he had thought that he was forgiven. But no! As soon as they had a chance to turn on him they immediately did.
His bonds fell away, and he kicked at the leaves angrily, striding out of their camp and into the forest. Maybe he didn't belong there, maybe he should have left a long time ago.
He contemplated this thought for a moment, realising as he did so that he had no life outside the gang. "The best years of your life, and for what?" Curse them for not trusting him!
A horse neighed close by, followed by the thundering of hooves and clinking of mail.
He crouched low, peering out from behind a tree. "No." He moved to the other side to get a better view. "It can't be." He could not be alive, Gisborne killed him. But now, he was there, and looking very much alive.
There was a yell from behind him, and sound of swords being drawn.
Two guards. He killed them both. I have to get to Robin. He thought, or maybe he spoke those words aloud. But what was important was to get to him, and quickly.
They saw him, and there was yelling. A short while later he was running, with several guards in pursuit. His heart was beating loudly in his chest. Arrows hissed past his ears, and when the they began falling, they struck him. One.. Two...Three.
He kept moving, and soon he was crawling, groveling in the dirt.
A shadow passed over him, and he looked up. And the face of death looked back down at him.
The former Sheriff of Nottingham.