"Weird ladders and mostly-dead trees are my specialty," says Little John. He thinks he spies just the tree Magnus means on the hillside ahead--a sprawling half-dead birch with a dark patch at the edge that suggests a hollow. "Did I tell thee, there was a winter when the sheriff was on the hunt for us, and Robin and I had to huddle up in a hollow tree for nigh a week to slip him? It was close quarters, that; we'd sleep on our feet like horses, holding each other up, and only steal away to piss. That was a fearful thing, too--burying our own piss so that it wouldn't stand out on the snow like a yellow standard."