Free The Secret of the Ginger Mice by Song of the Winns

ahead of him along the path downstream.
    Tibby didn’t need to be told twice, and they fled down the path, jeers and cries following them.
    The square-bodied mouse took off in pursuit, pausing only to scoop up a handful of stones. Several of his friends followed, and soon a shower of stones began to rain down behind the fleeing mice.
    â€œGingers!” cried the sharp-faced mouse, her voice bristling with hatred as she hurled a stone.
    â€œOuch!” cried Alistair, almost thrown off-balance as it struck him hard on the shoulder.
    â€œGot one!”
    Her companions crowed in triumph.
    â€œAre you okay?” Tibby panted, swerving as a stone landed on the path ahead of her.
    â€œYes,” Alistair gasped. “Just keep going!” He could hear the heavy breathing of the pursuing mice, and risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw that they had reached the path. His heart raced in his chest. “They’re getting closer!”
    The two ginger mice hurtled along the path, ducking and dodging the stones being flung at them.
    Tibby Rose was breathing raggedly as the path snaked uphill away from the river.
    A hand brushed his tail and for a terrifying instant Alistair thought he was caught.
    â€œC’mon, Tibby,” he urged, his own breath catching in his throat, and despite their tiring legs, the two ginger mice put on a burst of speed.
    They were running between shoulder-high shrubs now, the path twisting and curving so that they couldn’t see more than a few meters ahead. Alistair hoped desperately that the path didn’t suddenly stop in a dead end.
    As they reached the top of the hill and skidded down the other side, the gang of mice scrambling behind them, he could see that a bit farther ahead the path forked into two. This gave Alistair an idea. In front of him Tibby Rose nearly stumbled as the ground dipped away and Alistair sprinted forward and grabbed her hand.“Stay close,” he said, and as they rounded a corner he pulled her through a dense tangle of leaves and twigs into the cover of a shrub. “Don’t make a sound,” he hissed in her ear.
    They sat in silence, trying to keep their breathing shallow as their pursuers approached. The leaves of the shrub fluttered as they ran past—one, two, three, four, five.
    Then they heard a bellow of frustration from the square-shaped mouse who had led the pack as he slowed to a stop at the fork in the path. “Which way did they go? Did anyone see?”
    â€œI think they went left,” said one.
    â€œNo, right,” puffed another.
    â€œLet’s split up,” suggested the high voice of the sharp-faced mouse. She was obviously enjoying the chase.
    There was a pause, then the square-shaped mouse said, “Nah, it’s too hot. I need another swim.”
    The sharp-faced mouse began to protest: “But shouldn’t we go get the Queen’s Guards? Ginger mice are our enemies—you know that, Snodgrass. They’re probably Gerandan rebels.”
    â€œPut a sock in it, Janice,” said Snodgrass. “They were kids our own age. And look how they ran from us. They weren’t exactly dangerous, were they?”
    The other mice sniggered, and the group began toretrace their steps along the path back to the swimming beach. As their voices faded, Alistair and Tibby Rose continued to sit in frozen quiet, despite the twigs scratching their arms and faces. When at last his pulse had slowed, and he couldn’t hear a sound other than the distant hum of insects, Alistair stuck his head out of the bush and looked around. “I think it’s safe now,” he said. He pushed through the leaves and then stuck a hand back into the shrub to haul Tibby Rose out.
    â€œThat was scary,” he said, brushing leaves and dirt from his fur.
    â€œThat was petrifying ,” said Tibby. “And just because we’re ginger?” She shook her head in bewilderment.
    They set off down the