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Authors: Chris Mould
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followed awkwardly, bent double, his back arching upward. His wolfish moon eyes stared into the black, searching desperately. He couldn’t let go of his prize, not when he’d had him right there in his grasp.
He pulled himself into a shadow and drew his cloak around him to conceal his presence. If he waited long enough, perhaps Pip would emerge from somewhere.
But it was Old Jed who was spotted first. Torchlight rang down the alleyway, voices broke the air in two, and guardsmen in uniform appeared. The forest dweller was caught, rabbitlike, in the orange light. For a moment he was still, then he tried to dart away, but an attack ensued and a shrill cry pierced the night.
Pip was a breath away, motionless in a bricked-up doorway, watching as wood witches came flocking from above to come to the caller’s aid. Something lunged past him toward the chaos, something that stank heavily of damp and trees and moss. It was gone in a moment, and he watched it pass into the light of the torches: some kind of clawed beast that speared its long fingers at the guards from beneath a red cloak.
Pip soon realized it was a battle between forest and city. Clangs of shields and spears, claws raking walls and metal, horses trampling. He was entranced by the scene, almost unable to move, but he knew he should use the confusion to flee from sight.
He stepped out and risked being caught by the light. The bedlam was enough to distract the fighters as he moved away, still unable to understand that what he saw was real.
He moved backward, his hands raking their way across the walls, and it soon became apparent that he had steered himself toward the woods. He looked down to see a pair of rusted broken gates. Knotted and gnarled tree bark reached down toward him. The streets had gone and the buildings had been replaced with twisting trunks and branches. At his feet the cold bit into his toes through a bed of leaves and snow. There was no mistaking it. Pip was in the forest.
Perhaps it was Pip’s wild imagination, but as soon as he felt the forest floor beneath his feet he sensed that the trees were against him. That their roots twisted and turned and tried to trip his feet. That the branches above seemed to reach out to grab him or scratch at his face and tear at his clothes.
And somehow he had begun to feel sleepy. There was some drowsy, dreamy feel about the forest, almost as if sorcery was in the air, filtering between the trees like fog and bringing a strange earthy scent that was somehow pleasant and hypnotic.
Pip pushed on. He dared not call out and the night grew darker as he went farther in and the light from the city faded. Where should he look? Which way should he turn? There was more chance that he would be caught than that he would find Frankie and Toad. He stumbled and fell and the strange scent grew stronger, making him sleepier.
Up ahead, there was a clearing lit by a shaft of moonlight. Pip stopped and rested a moment, listening to the noises in the woods. Distant cawing and cackling, the creak and twist of trees. Who knows what could be happening to Toad and Frankie? He looked down to see the prettiest-looking flower. The smell was so strong now that he felt himself dozing as he sat. His head tilted down, making his body jerk, and his own movement woke him.
In that instant he realized what was happening. It was the scent of the winter flowers making him tired. Of course! This must be how so many of the children had been caught in the very beginning and no one had ever realized.
Pip ripped the sleeve from his shirt so that he had something to cover his nose and mouth before he soldiered on. The smell tried to drag him down, but he was determined to fight. He picked up freezing handfuls of snow and rubbed the snow into his face to keep himself awake.
But the farther he went the more chance there was of being seen. The nose of the wolf would sniff him out, or the eye of the crow would find him. The craftiness of the witch
He pulled himself into a shadow and drew his cloak around him to conceal his presence. If he waited long enough, perhaps Pip would emerge from somewhere.
But it was Old Jed who was spotted first. Torchlight rang down the alleyway, voices broke the air in two, and guardsmen in uniform appeared. The forest dweller was caught, rabbitlike, in the orange light. For a moment he was still, then he tried to dart away, but an attack ensued and a shrill cry pierced the night.
Pip was a breath away, motionless in a bricked-up doorway, watching as wood witches came flocking from above to come to the caller’s aid. Something lunged past him toward the chaos, something that stank heavily of damp and trees and moss. It was gone in a moment, and he watched it pass into the light of the torches: some kind of clawed beast that speared its long fingers at the guards from beneath a red cloak.
Pip soon realized it was a battle between forest and city. Clangs of shields and spears, claws raking walls and metal, horses trampling. He was entranced by the scene, almost unable to move, but he knew he should use the confusion to flee from sight.
He stepped out and risked being caught by the light. The bedlam was enough to distract the fighters as he moved away, still unable to understand that what he saw was real.
He moved backward, his hands raking their way across the walls, and it soon became apparent that he had steered himself toward the woods. He looked down to see a pair of rusted broken gates. Knotted and gnarled tree bark reached down toward him. The streets had gone and the buildings had been replaced with twisting trunks and branches. At his feet the cold bit into his toes through a bed of leaves and snow. There was no mistaking it. Pip was in the forest.
Perhaps it was Pip’s wild imagination, but as soon as he felt the forest floor beneath his feet he sensed that the trees were against him. That their roots twisted and turned and tried to trip his feet. That the branches above seemed to reach out to grab him or scratch at his face and tear at his clothes.
And somehow he had begun to feel sleepy. There was some drowsy, dreamy feel about the forest, almost as if sorcery was in the air, filtering between the trees like fog and bringing a strange earthy scent that was somehow pleasant and hypnotic.
Pip pushed on. He dared not call out and the night grew darker as he went farther in and the light from the city faded. Where should he look? Which way should he turn? There was more chance that he would be caught than that he would find Frankie and Toad. He stumbled and fell and the strange scent grew stronger, making him sleepier.
Up ahead, there was a clearing lit by a shaft of moonlight. Pip stopped and rested a moment, listening to the noises in the woods. Distant cawing and cackling, the creak and twist of trees. Who knows what could be happening to Toad and Frankie? He looked down to see the prettiest-looking flower. The smell was so strong now that he felt himself dozing as he sat. His head tilted down, making his body jerk, and his own movement woke him.
In that instant he realized what was happening. It was the scent of the winter flowers making him tired. Of course! This must be how so many of the children had been caught in the very beginning and no one had ever realized.
Pip ripped the sleeve from his shirt so that he had something to cover his nose and mouth before he soldiered on. The smell tried to drag him down, but he was determined to fight. He picked up freezing handfuls of snow and rubbed the snow into his face to keep himself awake.
But the farther he went the more chance there was of being seen. The nose of the wolf would sniff him out, or the eye of the crow would find him. The craftiness of the witch
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