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

Rose. I join him on the ground and we tie the horses to a tree. We carefully transfer the tomatoes to our pockets.
    â€œWhen we get there,” I instruct Elkin, “follow my lead. Hopefully we can approach from behind so the element of surprise will be on our side. I had expected to have many more tomatoes, so aim carefully.”
    Elkin nods, and we creep in the direction of the cave. It is so well hidden that we almost miss it. Elkin tugs at my tunic and points it out to me. The cave is no more than an opening in the rock face of a hillside. A fire pit is smoldering in a small clearing out front. The troll must have just finished his lunch. I wonder where it fell on the long list of options between berry and horse. I put my fingers to my lips, and we both take out our tomatoes and tiptoe forward. To my ears, each crunch of a fallen leaf sounds as loud as the hunt master’s horn.
    I motion for Elkin to stand at the left side of the entrance, and I take post on the right. With my back against the hard rock, I peer inside but can see nothing but darkness. Neither of us suggests going in, so we just stand there, looking around. My heart is beating so loud and hard, I am certain Elkin can hear it.
    After what seems like an eternity (but is probably onlyten minutes), we hear a rustling in the cave and both instinctively back away.
    â€œGet ready,” I whisper, feeling the weight of the tomatoes in each hand.
    â€œAll ri … right,” Elkin stutters. He is pale again, but he’s not backing down.
    The rustling is getting louder. The troll is definitely about to come out.
    â€œOn the count of three,” I whisper.
    Its shadow has now crossed the threshold. The shadow looks big. And hairy!
    â€œOne … two … three. NOW!”
    At that moment the troll emerges from the cave into the sunlight. With matching war cries, we both fire off our tomatoes. Amazingly, all four are direct hits. The troll should now fall down dead. If only it were a troll.
    We have just assaulted an old hermit!

I have gone to the window to stare out at the world that I was so close to being a part of again. To have been so close and to have failed has left me empty. My belly is rumbling so loud, I am certain the blackbirds can hear it. A yellow-beaked jackdaw tries to land on the same branch as a red-horned owl, and I watch as the owl flaps its wings in warning. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement below the tower. For a second my heart leaps, thinking it is Steven, although I know it cannot be. It is the witch, of course, and she is holding a bowl in her arms.
    â€œAre you hungry, my dear daughter?” she calls up, all sweetness and light.
    Every inch of me cringes when she calls me dear daughter. I still cannot bear to speak to her. But I am very hungry. With a sigh, I nod my head.
    â€œThen let down your hair and I shall climb up and feed you.” She tilts the bowl so I can see round red objects that must be berries. At this point I would eat the bark off a tree.While I am thinking about filling my belly, her words finally sink in. I have suddenly found my voice.
    I lean out the window and yell, “Did you say to let down my HAIR? And you will use it to CLIMB UP?”
    â€œYes, dear daughter.”
    â€œBut it is not nearly long enough, and I would fall from the window,” I point out. “Surely your weight is too much for me to bear.”
    â€œDo as I say, dear child. Unwrap your hair, and you will find it is both long enough and strong enough to do the task at hand.”
    Certain that she is madder than I already know her to be, I begin to unwrap my braid. Whole minutes go by and I am still unraveling it. I step to the window and lower the braid. To my shock, it really DOES reach the ground. The witch latches on and begins to climb. She moves very quickly, nearly as quickly as Steven climbed up the rope. I can feel her weight, but no more than if it were Sir Kitty swinging on it. The