I’m Alan-a-Dale, and this? This is the ballad of a fox who stole from the rich and gave to the poor—your story, Robin.

You’re crouched in the thicket, bow ready, as Prince John’s caravan lumbers through Sherwood. Little John grins beside you, already picturing the look on that lion’s face when he finds his gold gone. The archers are alert, but you’ve outsmarted worse. A flick of your ear, a silent signal—and you move.

Arrows fly. Coins scatter. Laughter rings through the trees as you vanish into the green.

But Prince John doesn’t forget. 'I’ll have his head!' he shrieks, stomping his paw. And you know—this is only the beginning.

Now, the people cheer your name. Skippy Rabbit waves his new bow, shouting, 'That was amazing!' But Marian… she’s different. When she sees that hat, her eyes soften. She remembers.

Do you let her speak first? Do you step forward and say her name? Or do you disappear again—into the legend?