I barely remember the next several weeks. I found myself wandering alone through the woods, never minding my way except when I saw the witch's clearing in the distance. I wanted to save Jorinda, not end up trapped again. The witch had let me go once, but I doubted she'd do it again. Those were my only lucid thoughts.

I stumbled through briars, slicing my skin and barely noticing. I drank when I stumbled across streams, I ate when berries or mushrooms presented themselves, and I slept when I collapsed in exhaustion. I dreamed of strange things, of kissing Jorinda only to discover she was the witch, of the black ram laughing at me, of being a frozen statue, unable to flee Jorinda's pursuingw suitors. When I woke from these dreams, often in a cold sweat, I would simply move on.

When I finally came out of the forest, I was far from home. The hills I'd only ever seen in the horizon were far behind me. I had never even noticed crossing them. The landscape before me was unlike anything I had ever seen, with little grass and none of the wide grazing fields of home. Instead, before me stretched long miles of wheat fields, tilled here and there by farmers. Nowhere was a herd of goats to be seen, nor the tiny hamlets that dotted the countryside. I saw before me a few scattered farms and wide roads cut between fields, walled on either side with hedges. In the distance I could see the biggest town I had ever seen, with more buildings than any place I had ever been to before. In a land like this, magic and fairy stories didn't seem to exist. It was a land infused with practicality and necessity, no place for witches. I had hardly even entered into this world and already I was doubting my past. Had I once lived in so tiny a village? Had I been loved by the world's most beautiful girl? And had she truly been kidnapped by a witch and transformed into a bird?

In my wonder I forgot my hunger, my weakness, and my fever, but as soon as I thought of Jorinda all three came rushing back, and I nearly collapsed to my knees. I hadn't eaten since— when was the last time I had eaten? I found I couldn't remember. I studied the countryside again, this time searching for the nearest shelter. People would be there, people who didn't know what I had done, didn't suspect me of murdering the person most precious to me, people who would help me. I stumbled off towards the first building that looked promising, praying I was right.

I never made it far enough to find out. I had barely reached the white gate that led to the farm when my knees gave out and I found myself swallowed by blissful blackness.


I woke the next morning in a bed, more comfortable than I had been in God only knew how long. Where was I? This wasn't home, where my pallet was so lumpy and thin in places that I could feel the floor beneath me, so what had happened? I struggled to remember, and suddenly it all came rushing back to me. Jorinda. The forest. The witch.

I sat up abruptly, which I quickly realized was a mistake. Moaning, I lay back down.

The noise must have alerted my saviors to my consciousness, as the door opened soon after to reveal a dark-haired girl about my age, who smiled winningly at seeing me awake.

"Praise God!" she said, rushing to my side. "We'd begun to think you were dead!"

"I'm sorry," I said. My tongue felt thick in my mouth.

"What are you sorry for? You were sick, and we took you in. It was hardly a great expense. My brother Joseph is an apothecary, you see, and he took care of you. He said you had a terrible fever and you hadn't eaten properly in weeks, but I'll fix that for you. I'll be right back with some soup," she said in a rush, and before I could reply she was gone.

"I'm Mary, by the way," she told me when she returned, a steaming bowl of broth in her hands.

"Jorindel," I said.

"That's a funny name. I've never heard its like."

"There was a girl in our village named Jorinda. My mother liked the name." I stiffened when I mentioned Jorinda. Was she even still alive?

Mary flushed. "I didn't mean I didn't like it. It's a lovely name. So exotic."

I said nothing. Was I even in the same kingdom? How far had I traveled?"

"You're just outside the city of Royalsbridge," Mary said, "and it's the third week of July."

July. I'd been wandering since early June. Jorinda had been a bird for as long.

"You've been wandering a while, haven't you?" Mary asked.

I nodded, barely paying attention. I was thinking about Jorinda and how to rescue her.

"Why?" I looked up to see her watching me intently. "If I may ask."

I shook my head and looked down at my empty wooden bowl. After a few moments, Mary took my dishes and left, closing the door quietly behind her.


Mary's father Peter was a tall, robust man with a wrinkled brown face. He had been farming since he was able to walk, and everything he owned he'd earned through hard work, including his wife Katherine. Aside from Mary and Joseph, he had his heir Mark and his youngest son Noah, a boy of about ten. When I was finally well enough to get out of bed, he sat me down and told me that with the harvest season approaching, he'd need all the hands he could get. He seemed to understand that I had something in my past that forbade me from going home, and he was willing to offer me shelter in exchange for work. I was only too happy to accept.

I was a curiosity in my new home. While no one ever asked outright about my past, Noah and Mary were always wondering where I had come from and what my village was like. When Noah discovered how many stories I knew, he began pestering me for them constantly, and I often caught Mary and the stoic Mark listening in. When my skills with animals were discovered, I began working in the barn, feeding and milking the cows and tending to the horses. I often found myself in the company of Mary, who would bring her mending basket out to the barn and sit talking to me while we worked. I learned that she was around my age and as yet unmarried, though she'd had more than one suitor, and that she would be perfectly happy to stay that way. She loved being at home and helping her mother cook, clean, and mend. Though I was sure she remembered my silence at the mention of Jorinda, she never brought her up, preferring instead to talk about herself and explain the workings of the farm and her kingdom to me. I found her a delightful companion.

When the harvest time came I was up before dawn every morning and working until dusk. I came back to the farm with the other men exhausted and could barely shovel in the food Katherine prepared for us before collapsing into bed. My sleep was heavy then, and for the first time since the witch had taken Jorinda, I did not dream.


What's that, Mazkeraide is back on the Internet? Yes, it's true, I haven't died. In fact, I've spent the past year or so working on this lovely chapter, which I hereby present to you. That's a lie. I've only been working on this for the past couple of days, but I entirely plan on having it finished by the end of May. You can hold me to that, if you want (though I wouldn't recommend it). Yeah. College is rough. You'd be surprised at how little writing you get done when you have a roommate/friends who basically live in your room.

Anyway. If you liked this, drop a review, and if you were a previous reader who still remembers this story, kudos to you! And maybe some virtual ice cream!

~~Mazzie~~