When I regain my consciousness, I'm lying supine on the bank. Turning around, I cough out some water I must have gulped while floating unconscious in the river. My clothes are soaked and my hair drips water. As I feel out for the satchel, I panic when I don't find it and take a look around me. It also washed up a few paces away from where I lay. Walking, and slightly sinking on the muddy grass, I pick the drenched satchel and take out the manuscript I fear to be all smeared. Both the book and the map within its pages, for some odd reason, are dry as a bone.
I look at my surroundings, trying to identify something which can pinpoint my location but all I see are trees, grass, water and sky. Nothing is particularly familiar but like every other place in this world, everywhere is familiar. I have no way to match my current location to the map and I have no quill and ink to add to it. Folding the map, I place it back into the manuscript and into the satchel. I have no particular heading so I pick a direction and start walking into the forest. My first priority is to find food and shelter, as the night trickles in.
Along the way, I cannot help but wonder what has become of my brother. Why did he choose to part ways? Did he think I was following when I wasn't? I hope for both of our own sakes he doesn't do anything foolish. My brother has always been a good soul but his compulsiveness is his greatest flaw.
Stars carpet the sky and I failed to achieve my goals. Hungry and tried, I stop and rest for the night and continue my journey in the morning. My devious mind won't let me rest if I don't take a couple of precautions before sleeping. First, I forgo the idea of sleeping on the ground – yes it would provide additional warmth but if wolves where to find me during the night, I would be easy prey. I find a tree with low hanging branches and settle in one, resting my back against the trunk. Then I make sure the satchel is secured safely in case someone stumbling upon me decides to take it away.
I don't fall asleep easily. In my life this is the first time I've had to sleep out in the open. I admit my sense of adventure isn't one of my best characteristics. William is more adventurous than me. That's why we make a good writing duo – he's good at describing scenes while I'm better at plotting. As I reminisce some of writing moments I shared with William, I drift into a dreamless sleep.
In the morning, when I wake, my empty stomach hurts and grumbles, haven't eaten anything in a day. Had I grown an interest in botany, I could have distinguished the safe berries from the poisoned ones. My ignorance led me to remain hungry.
Climbing off the branch, I straighten up my clothes and head across a path between the trees. Birds chirp in their nests and flowers open as the first rays of sunlight touch them. Further up, the trees are sparse and seem to be growing farther apart. A clearing, maybe? Most of the safest cottages I found were in a clearing. Hopefully the owners, given that it's not abandoned, can accommodate me for a day or two before I carry on with my journey. A couple of days should be enough for me to recover.
The cottage comes into view as soon as I pass by the last tree at the edge of the clearing. The walls are white as snow and the slanting roof is made from hay with a stone chimney popping out round back. The window shutters and the main door are wide open.
A slender young woman is close by. Next to her feet she has a wicker basket with white linen sheets. In her hands she's holding another white sheet which she places over the clothes line, strung between a tree and the cottage. With both hands, she smoothens out the sheet before bending to pick up the next. A series of angelic notes float out of her, attracting some birds to the tree nearest to her, whistling in tune with her. Then it happens.
For a brief moment, our eyes meet as she's picking up a new sheet. My eyes remain fixed on her green ones, more vivacious than the grass itself, as I continue to approach the cottage. Brier-Rose, the sleeping girl who once pricked her finger on a spindle, stops singing but doesn't move. With next step I take, before I have a chance to introduce myself, my legs become jelly underneath me. I feel lightheaded, the world around me goes dark and my head collides to the lush green grass as I pass out.
A splitting headache jolts me awake. I'm no longer lying on the ground with grass and rubble but on a straw bed in what I assume to be Brier-Rose's cottage. The room is rather empty with only the bed and a nightstand. A wash basin with a shallow amount of water is on the nightstand beside the bed. On my forehead, something wet, probably a cloth, sits across. The point of impact where my head hit the ground throbs slightly. No one is in the room with me. Where's Rose? I move, trying to turn to the side, the first step for me to get out of this bed.
"Where do you think you're going?" Rose asks, rushing inside the room before I manage to turn on my side. Firmly she pushes me back down, tucks me in and adjusts the cloth on my forehead. Sitting down on a chair next to me, she doesn't take off her eyes off me until someone walks in the cottage.
"Rose?" a male voice asks from outside the room. His voice has an urgency, a dash of worry for Rose.
"In the guest room, Roger," she calls to him without shifting her attention from me. Roger is the gallant prince who saved Brier-Rose from her curse. I know both of them well but they seem to be unaware of who am I just as Gothel was before William and I naively revealed our identities to her. Though they are good people, for their safety and protection, I will not disclose my identity to them. If huntsmen ever come around asking questions, they could truthfully deny they ever saw Jacob Grimm here.
When Roger walks in, quiver hanging across his back, he takes his beloved's side immediately, a hand resting on her shoulder. After making sure she's fine he looks at me questioningly. I am, after all, a stranger alone with his wife inside their home. He has no reason to trust me but he trusts her.
"When I saw the basket outside and the door open, I thought something bad had happened to you. Who is he, dear?"
"I don't know. I was outside hanging the laundry when he walked out of the forest but before I had the chance to speak to him, he fainted in our garden. I prepared the guest room and dragged him inside, forgetting to pick up the basket or to lock the door. I'm sorry if I scared you."
"My name is Ingo Stine," I say, making up a fictitious name for myself. Sticking to some parts of the truth will help make my story believable. "I was ambushed at my cottage by some huntsmen. For two days I have been wandering in the forest and must have passed out from the tiredness and the hunger. I apologize if I gave you a fright, miss."
"It's quite alright," she says with a blush.
"Thank you for your kindness but I think I'd better be on my way," I say, trying to sit up in bed but as soon as I do, the room spins and I find myself back onto the pillow.
"You're still too weak to go anywhere," Roger says, removing the cloth on my forehead to soak it again in water basin. "Rose, why don't you go and prepare some broth we can share it with our guest? I'll keep him company while you cook."
Brier-Rose gives me a small smile as she gets up from the chair and walks out of the room. Roger puts away his quiver and takes her place on the wooden chair. Only after looking twice over his shoulder to be certain sure Brier-Rose has left the room does he speak to me.
"I know who you are, Master Grimm," he says in a hushed tone. "I appreciate your discretion in regards to revealing your identity, especially in front of Brier-Rose. In the village I heard rumours about you and your brother. A hefty bounty is offered for your capture. The posters are all over the village."
"It has never been my intention to put either of you in jeopardy," I answer. How does Roger know who I am? The way he expressed himself hinted he thinks Brier-Rose is yet unaware of my true identity. Why is this?
"It pains me to have to tell you this but we can't keep you with us. Your presence here attracts huntsmen to us. It would only give Gothel a good excuse to throw me inside her jail."
"I understand," I reassure him. "If you could give me shelter for one night, I would be extremely grateful. I'll be on my way in the morning. The journey ahead of me is long and I don't know how long it will be before finding refuge again."
"You are welcome stay with us for tonight," Roger says. "I'll make sure Rose prepares some supplies to take with you on your travels. Where are you headed?"
"I have no particular heading. I need to find a safe place to hide something. Would you happen to know where I can stash it? The object is precious and dangerous if it falls in the wrong people's hands. I can't risk keeping it with me in case I'm captured."
"You could try leaving it with the dwarves," Roger suggests. "They work down the mines and I'm sure they can find a safe place for you to hide your item. At dinner I can point you in the right direction. It's not far from here."
"Thank you. If there's anything I can do for you, let me know – I'm indebted to you."
Roger nods and leaves my side. My head aches and my eyes are impossible to keep wide open. If either of them returned into the room I wouldn't now because my light-headedness drifts me off into a sweet slumber.