The Princess and the Huntsman by Patricia Green Page B

peep from the tree nearest the cottage. It was a big elm tree, with branches that spread far and wide, tall and stately and verdant. The peep sounded again, and Brandywyn looked all around for its source, following the peeping until she found a baby bird, fallen from its nest. It looked like a fledgling who had tried to fly too early. It was woeful, bringing pity to Brandywyn’s heart. She picked up the bird and took it to the cabin where she gave it water and tiny crumbs of bread. It ate everything she gave it and peeped contentedly. She gently rubbed its downy feathers, enjoying the commune they shared, human to bird.
    A shadow fell from the cottage door, and Tom stood there, smiling when Brandywyn looked up. “I see you have a friend.”
    “Aye. He lost his mother.”
    “And found one in you,” Tom said, coming into the cottage and putting a pair of partridges on the table.
    She looked from the baby bird to the man. “We must keep it, Tom. It will die if we do not.”
    “Perhaps ‘twould be best do we find its nest and return it to its home.”
    “Please, Tom? I would care for it, I promise.”
    He stared at her for a moment. “Is it not beneath your dignity to toil over a demanding pet?”
    The truth was hard to accept, but Brandywyn hardly felt like a princess anymore. She was closer to the earth now, less inclined to disdain work with her hands. Besides, Brandywyn had always loved animals. She had lost sight of that since her mother died. She had lost sight of so many things since that awful day.
    “Please, Tom. I would like to try.”
    He appeared to consider her request most seriously, then nodded. “Very well. But do not be surprised if it dies, Brandywyn. ‘Tis a hard world for an orphan, especially a baby bird. Where will you keep it?”
    “I can…” Where would she keep it? “I can build it a nest out of rags and straw in your extra hat. Surely that will keep it safe here inside the cottage.”
    “Mayhap. Or mayhap it will wander from its nest and get underfoot. We could stomp on it in the middle of the night.”
    “Tom!” She clutched the bird in gentle hands. “Do not say it! We shall be cautious. Soon it will be old enough to fend for itself. It is a fledgling, and nearly able to fly away.”
    Tom sighed broadly. “Very well. I shall keep my big feet out of its way.”
    Brandywyn felt her heart expand. He was giving her a boon, and one she needed. Animals were dear and nothing would give her greater pleasure than nursing this one back to its freedom. “Thank you, Tom.”
    “Now, from one bird to another.” He patted a fat partridge. “Let us get to making supper, or we shall starve just like that fledgling was wont to do.”
    “Aye. Do you show me what to do and I shall do it. I can learn.”
    Smiling, Tom gave her a lesson on roasting partridge.

Chapter Seven
     
     
    The fledgling grew quickly, and within a week Brandywyn watched it fly away on its own. She smiled, but she was also sad to lose her little pet. Instead, there was Tom to see to. She had been steadily learning how to care for him, and to find joy in that caring. Brandywyn wondered at her own bitterness after her mother’s passing. There were miracles in the world—like her rescue from the kidnappers, and the recovery of the baby bird—and her focus should have been upon those things, not taking her hurt out on others by hurting them in kind. It was a hard realization, for she had wronged so many people in the past four years. She vowed to make up for all of that once she returned to the royal palace.
    Brandywyn had just pulled her best loaf of bread out of the oven when she heard noises outside the open cottage door. She turned and saw two urchins. One, a dirty young girl of perhaps eight, and the other a young boy, perhaps four years old. The boy had his dirty thumb in his mouth and was holding his sister’s hand like a lifeline.
    “How now?” Brandywyn asked. “Who are you?”
    “I am Pansy and this is Brake.