"I cannot say for certain," Robin began slowly, "but I think such legends begin when they are needed, to bring hope to people who would otherwise founder in despair. The tales grew in the telling because people needed to believe them, to know that the daily grind and sacrifice of their lives was not in vain; that someone was fighting for them. But the stories, such as they are, have little to do with reality. Neither with any gift I might hold, I think." His eyes were dark with shadows. "And I cannot live up to them. Nor should any man try." Robin sighed. "The true story of my life is very different. And very short." He wondered if she would want to hear it, and what she would make of it if she did.

"The gift you refer to does not have a name," Robin went on after a moment. "Herne - he who trained me - called it simply the power of light and darkness. My father had it too. It is... an affinity with the world, a communion with what is. I cannot do what you do."