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plants. Plants who had tried to help her.  
    Plants who might help her now.  
    She turned her head, not taking her eyes off Helga. “Reeds,” she said. “Grapevine. Rowan tree. Is she telling the truth?”  
    She was aware on some level that she was asking plants for help, and how ridiculous that was. But she remembered the dreams and the green smell of chickweed and the rustle of rowan leaves overhead.  
    The grapevine creaked another long sound of assent. The reeds bent down as if they were nodding.  
    The rowan tree dropped a red berry at her feet. It was the color of the cords that her grandmother wrapped around Gerta’s wrist when she was small, to protect against the folk of the woods.  
    Gerta exhaled.  
    “I won’t put it on until I’m out of the garden,” she told Helga. “And I’m staying right here by the gate. And I don’t want you to touch me. But…all right.”  
    “Very wise,” said Helga bitterly, and went inside.  
    There must have been some magic involved. When she returned, she carried a luxurious fur muff and a heavy wool cloak. She had Helga’s old pack slung over her shoulder.
    “There’s food in there,” she said. “It’s little enough, but it’s not enchanted.”  
    She set them down in the middle of the garden and retreated to the porch. Gerta took a deep breath, snatched them up, and hurried back to the gate.
    Nothing terrible happened, and she did not feel any compulsion to return to the house.
    “The Snow Queen will kill you,” said Helga. “She’ll reach into your heart and you’ll feel like the lowest thing in the world. You’ll kill yourself just to get away from being yourself.”
    “She has Kay,” said Gerta grimly. She shouldered the pack. “I have to get him back.”  
    Helga shook her head. “She’ll kill you. Go home, if you can’t stay here. The Snow Queen is a power beyond you.”  
    Gerta closed the gate behind her.  
    When she was a good distance away, she stopped and clasped the cloak around her throat. It settled in heavy folds over her shoulders.
    Nothing else happened.  
    She shoved her hands into the fur muff. It was very warm and a little of the desperation that had crawled into her heart at the thought of seven months passing eased.  
    She began walking north. Her last view of the farmhouse was of Helga standing among the empty vegetable beds with her hands over her face.  

CHAPTER EIGHT

    She slept that night in a haystack, because she was afraid to go up to a farmhouse. It was probably unlikely that they would also be witches, but she had lost far too much time.
    Besides, how would I explain what I’ve been doing, or where I came from, or why my clothes don’t fit?
    The idea of trying to explain it all was too exhausting, and much too humiliating. She flushed with shame at the mere thought.  
    Hello, yes, I’m trying to find my true love, but I got enchanted for seven months but I’m better now. Can I buy some sausages?
    Did she even deserve to call Kay her true love? She’d kissed him once, and certainly she loved him, but he deserved someone better. Someone who wouldn’t get stuck at the very first house and lose seven months to a garden and a witch.  
    There was bread and cheese and ham in the pack, and a small bottle of water. She poured the water out and rinsed it in the stream before refilling it, just in case.  
    The food…well.  
    She was nearly faint with hunger by the time she stopped at the haystack. She sat down out of the wind, and opened her pack.  
    If I don’t eat, I’ll faint and fall down and freeze to death.  
    If I do eat, I may turn around and run back to Helga.  
    A few more snowflakes fell. The sky had not committed to snowing, but it was the color of iron and the wind was bitter cold.  
    One bite. I’ll take one bite and see what happens.
    She selected the ham, because it did not seem worth it to risk life and liberty for a bite of bread.  
    Well, it looks like ham…smells like