She was the shrewd fox-masked outlaw, glimpsed only by the light of the waning moon, or through the mist that wreathed the cathedral's walls. The sheriff and his men made numerous attempts to seize her, but she was always a tad quicker, a tad sharper. There was always a hidden forest alcove, a trap door, a dagger by her sleeve, or a villager who owed her help. Whoever she was, she was no commoner, no normal person. Her clothes were too finely woven, her prowess with a bow unrivaled. (c) me.