“No, you found it.” I push it back into his hands.
Brahm shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere without you, so you can hold on to it for me.”
I agree and open my satchel, heavy from my collection: the snake-leaves, the apple, the bone and key, the comb, the shard of mirror, and the sewing kit. Careful not to cut myself on the magic mirror, I take out the wooden sewing kit box and place the pearl inside.
“There. For safe-keeping.”
We continue walking, hand-in-hand, as we search for another pearl. We snack on the fruits and nuts that Brahm took from the castle. As I bite into a juicy pear, I worry Ferdinand will eat our bread for the lion. Brahm tosses hazelnuts into the air and catches them in his mouth, grinning at me after each one.
He waves his hand for me to step forward, holding a nut in his fingers. “Ready?”
I open my mouth wide, and he tosses one at me. “Mmm.” I crunch and swallow. “Now stop playing around; let’s find that other pearl. I’m surprised we found even one—the forest is so dense that searching for horses would be difficult.”
Brahm pauses near a fallen tree, where a crop of wildflowers grows. He kneels to pluck a few blooms and giggles to himself.
“What’s so funny?” I step closer.
Brahm takes my hand. “This,” he says, pulling me to the ground.
I grin as he leans over me. Surrounded by colorful blossoms all around, Brahm adds the ones he picked to my crown. He weaves the stems into the braided vines. The heat of his chest warms me, and I gently kiss his neck as he works on the flowers. After adjusting the crown, Brahm’s eyes meet mine.
“I’ve always been drawn to you for your beauty.” He kisses some of the freckles on the bridge of my nose. “But what makes me love you is your strength, bravery, and devotion to your family. Also, little moments like this, where your softness peeks through. You can be surprisingly delightful—especially when getting naked.”
My jaw drops, and I flip Brahm onto his back as he laughs.
Straddling him, I lean to whisper in his ear, “If you’re lucky, maybe we’ll get to finish what we started.”
I trickle my fingers down his chest and reach his belt buckle just as the wind gusts. The fog barrels toward us through the thick trees. We both jump up, and Brahm takes my hand.
“We have to keep you away from it!”
We hurry through the dense forest, scratching our arms and legs on branches. A new wall of fog forces us to slow down. We spin to find the fog encircling us on all sides, pressing in—just like the fog of pain presses against my skull. I scream and hold my head.
“What do we do?” I ask as Brahm touches my cheeks to check on me.
“Hold your breath,” he says. “And hang on to me.”
I nod, and we take off sprinting blindly through the fog. My legs hit something low and made of stone, causing me to flip forward. I tumble into a dark pit—a well—bumping into the stone sides all the way down.
“Brahm! Help!” My shouts echo in the cylinder.
I lose my senses until I splash into icy water. It’s dark as I paddle my way to the surface. When my head pops out of the water, I’m no longer in the well, but a lake. I swim to shore and find myself in a lovely meadow full of sunshine and flowers.
As my eyes adjust to the brightness, I see everything is made of thin strands of color. The sky warps with shades of blue, and the flowers are woven and textured with thousands of threads. A tiny, thatched house, similar to my own home, sits in the distance.
“Where am I?” I ask myself as I lift my soaked dress to my knees.
The stones of the well scraped up my legs during the descent. Cherry-red threads of blood drip and stream down my textured, milky skin. I take out the snake-leaves and place them on the wounds, but nothing looks quite right. Even the snake-leaves have a different, fabric-like feel. But like normal, my skin glows, and the cuts heal. As I tuck the leaves back into my satchel, I crane my neck over the field of woven flowers to get a look at the house.
A handful of goats graze and play in the grass. A broom is propped against the wooden doorframe. Other than the thatched house, there is nothing but flowers as far as the eye can see. Squeezing the lake water from my hair and adjusting my floral crown, I approach the house.
An elderly woman wearing a blue kerchief peeps out the window. Even she doesn’t look truly human, but as an image on a tapestry. She greets me at the back door with a large-toothed grin. Her wrinkles are contoured with darker shades, and her eyes are woven with bright white, blue, and gray.
“Hello, Frau,” I say. “My name is Gisela. I’m an Offering from the valley, and I fell down a well. Can you tell me where I am? Or how to get back to the forest?”
“Of course, dear child,” she says, patting my shoulder. Her fabric hand is soft and light. “Help me with my work and eat supper with me, then I will gladly lead you to your destination.”
“That is very generous, Frau. It’s just…I need to return to the forest right away. My boyfriend is waiting for me. We must finish our journey and kill Hexegot.”
The old lady shakes her head from side to side. “Dear child, she cannot be killed—which is why many of our souls hide down here.” She grabs my arm. “Such a skinny thing; you need food! Don’t worry about your boyfriend. Time works differently here.”
“Frau, I really—”
“Call me Mother Holle, won’t you?” She grabs two buckets near the threshold and hands one to me. “You look like a nice farm girl. I need help milking the goats.”
I give her a reluctant smile and kneel to help with the milking. These goats are well-fed and produce milk—or string-like shades of white and cream—with ease. Now the ache of guilt swells in my stomach as I think about our goats, hoping Thora can milk them herself.
When our fabric buckets are full, Mother Holle strokes an older, black-and-white goat’s back and kisses the top of its head. She sings a little tune.
“Bleat, my little goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat.”
Mother Holle draws a knife from her apron. “Goodbye, Lena,” she whispers and slits the goat’s throat.
The goat falls slack with strands of maroon, crimson, and burgundy spilling from its neck.
“Sometimes sacrifices must be made,” Mother Holle says, with her gray-blue eyes piercing into mine. “Now come along, help me with the housework. I will make you a hearty meal before you go.” She slings the dead goat over her shoulders. “You’ll see. Your man will be right where you left him. I told you, time works differently down here.”
I blow a strand of hair from my face and shrug as I walk inside her small house. The walls are woven with bright colors, and the shelves are lined with oddities and knick-knacks. Mother Holle drops the goat on the butcher counter and adjusts her kerchief.
“I’ll be starting supper.” She points to the hallway. “If you could, be a dear and help me with the bedding. Shake them thoroughly till feathers fly.”
I nod and wander down the hallway. My eyes are beginning to adjust to the textured, fabric-like look of everything here. Inside the bedroom are a rocking chair, a basket of yarn, a small bed, and a wide window. I hope this doesn’t take long. Luckily, this house is much smaller than Albert’s manor.