Rapunzel, the One With All the Hair by Wendy Mass Page A

hunt. Sorry I could not provide more. Good luck! Your friend and loyal page, Andrew.
    My first thought is to call the whole thing off. The book said that one tomato reaching its target would be enough to fell the troll, but it would give us little room for error.
    â€œDo hurry,” Elkin says. “We do not know how long the hunters will remain in the forest.”
    He is right. It is now or never. I stick the tomatoes into a saddlebag and hang the empty satchel back on the tree. The empty bag is the signal Andrew came up with to let him know the plan is under way.
    â€œAhem,” Elkin says, holding out his hands.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œAren’t you going to give me some of those?”
    â€œYou’re actually going to help me fight this troll?” I ask as I reach in and grab two of them.
    â€œI am,” he says, accepting the overripe tomatoes and thrusting them in his own saddlebag. “Now which way?”
    I take a minute to get my bearings, and then gesture off to the left. I can still hear the hunters galloping and whooping in the other direction. With all the noise they are making, it’s a wonder we ever see meat on our table.

My trunk is a mess. Between the broken ink bottle and the oil from the shattered lamp, everything is coated with a black goo. I did pull one item from the trunk unharmed — Steven’s silver spoon. He must have shoved it in there when I was not looking. He is sneaky that way. I miss him already. Sure, he was smaller than my father — and greener, of course — but he was the closest thing I had to one in this place. Even though I am back here, I am glad that he is home where he belongs.

After a few minutes, we find ourselves on what must once have been a riding path but is now so overgrown it is hard to recognize as one. The horses have to step carefully to avoid fallen vines and branches. We ride steadily for a few miles until we come upon the large oak tree that signifies we are only a mile or so away from the cave. The rest of the journey will be more treacherous, for we must turn away from the path, with only the trees themselves to guide us. It is cool this deep in the forest, but my thick tunic keeps me comfortable.
    â€œUh, are you sure this is the right way?” Elkin asks from behind me. The brush is so thick, there is room for only one horse at a time.
    â€œI think so,” I answer honestly. “I have memorized the markings that should guide us. See this tree here? It has a slash of red ochre on the trunk. That tells me we are to turn right.”
    â€œWho made these markings?” he asks, reaching his hand out to trace the design with his finger.
    I shrug. “The bandits, I guess. Before Father cleared them out of the forest.”
    â€œYou are sure they’re gone, right?”
    â€œAndrew says they are.”
    â€œOh, well, if Andrew says so, then I’m sure it must be true.”
    â€œWhat do you have against him, anyway?”
    â€œForget it — just keep looking for those signs. If we get lost here, no one will find us for days.”
    I am tempted to reply that his hair would be the only beacon our rescuers would need, but I hold my tongue. For better or worse, we are partners now. We continue to ride in silence, finding marking after marking. I only miss one, and that’s because a bluebird is sitting on a branch in front of the mark. We wind up finding a small brook where the horses can refresh themselves with a drink. Judging from the position of the sun above us, it is already well past noontime. We have to hurry.
    Once we are back on track, it is not long before we close in on our target. I bring Snowflake to a halt and Elkin squeezes up beside us. “We are almost there,” I whisper. “I think we should dismount and tie the horses here. That way we will be better able to sneak up on the troll.”
    I expect Elkin to argue, but he only nods and quietly swings himself off Dusty