The Grimm Conclusion by Adam Gidwitz Page A

though. Fänger was an expert at building blinds. And besides, Jorinda was too excited. She had brought sugar cubes. She had never fed her little friend sugar cubes before. But she was pretty sure he would love them.
    Jorinda ran on her toes, flying through the underbrush to the clearing. She sat down beneath the great oak and spread out her little skirt over her knees and held the sugar cubes tightly in her hand.
    She waited.
    And waited.
    And waited.
    Behind the blind of branches, the king sat on his horse. An arrow lay in his palm. His bow dangled from his saddle. He huffed impatiently. Fänger, standing at the king’s side, put his finger to his lips. The king rolled his eyes and looked back to the clearing.
    Jorinda began to worry. Where was her little friend? Would he not come? Had something happened to him?
    In the blind, Fänger ran his thumb over the blade of his hatchet. A red line rose to the surface of his skin. The blade was sharp enough. He sucked away the blood.
    And just then, from the opposite brush, a small creature emerged. Its legs were uncertain and spindly. Its coat was shimmering like a lake in the moonlight. Its mane hung lank and soft as silk across its neck. And on its forehead, protruding just an inch or so, was an ebony horn.
    The king gasped.
    The small beast approached Jorinda. His soft nose sniffed first at her open hand—at her palm, her wrist, her fingers. He sneezed. She laughed. Then he moved over to her closed hand, the one that held the sugar cubes.
    Fänger nodded to the king. The king nocked an arrow in his bow, pulled the string back, and raised the arrow to his face. Fänger hefted his hatchet.
    The unicorn had eaten the sugar cubes. Now he was licking the residue from Jorinda’s hand, her wrist, her arm. She laughed as he snuffled up to her neck, her face. “Stop!” she giggled, pushing his head away. “Stop!”
    But then she stopped. For in the reflection of the beast’s round eye she saw a man astride a horse, a bow and arrow drawn and aimed, emerging from behind a wall of leaves.
    She turned. The king’s eyes were flashing, and his red face was twisted into a horrific smile.
    â€œDON’T!” Jorinda screamed. And she threw her little body in front of the foal’s neck at the very instant the king loosed his arrow.
    Everything was moving very slowly. Jorinda saw the arrow wobble for a moment as it left the bow, and then the feathers caught the wind, it found its course, and it sailed, straight and true, for the unicorn and the little girl.
    At first, it just burned. A dull burn below Jorinda’s neck. She looked to see what made her feel that way.
    Then she saw the blood spattered on the black coat of the unicorn, and the arrow spinning wildly away from them through the air.
    She looked at the little beast. The blood made a pattern on its side. She thought it looked like a juniper tree.
Where is the wound?
she wondered.
    And then the pain lanced through her, and she screamed, and her arms squeezed the unicorn’s neck, and then she was on his back, and they were off.
    ----
    The little unicorn careered through the wood, leaping logs and bushes and branches without an instant’s hesitation. Jorinda held on to his neck and his mane for dear life, as her blood flowed down his side, spraying the leaves as they galloped past.
    The king’s horse was not far behind. They could hear the man cursing his missed shot and bellowing for Fänger to keep up. The king’s horse was larger than the little unicorn, and so less nimble. But its great legs pounded the bracken underfoot, and what time it lost by going around the shrubs it made up with its huge strides. The king spurred his horse mercilessly and held his bow tight.
    Not far behind him, Fänger wove and ducked through the trees. And while he had not the agility of the little unicorn, nor the raw speed of the great horse, he was crafty and knew these woods well. He