Free Winter Wood by Steve Augarde Page A

trusted with the care of something precious, and as she gently slid the piece of paper into the inside pocket of her fleece she said, ‘Thank you. I’ll look after it, I promise.’
    â€˜Aye. It is all that our tribe have of Celandine, and all that remains to me of my brother’s hand. If it can serve a purpose, then I am glad that you should take it – but I should like to see it safe again.’
    â€˜Did your brother . . . I mean, is he . . .?’
    â€˜Loren died young. The winters were ever a hard time for us.’
    It was plain that Tadgemole had no wish to say any more. Midge pulled up the collar of her fleece and turned hesitantly towards the doorway of the barn.
    â€˜But what shall I do,’ she said to Pegs, ‘if I find out anything? About Celandine, I mean. Do you want me to come and tell you?’
    You must keep away from the forest, Midge. Much has changed since you were there, and little for the good. The old Queen has gone, and now Maglin rules in her stead. All tribes are divided, and there is much foolish talk . . .
    â€˜Pah! Treacherous talk!’ Tadgemole’s pale face had begun to redden. ‘
Heathen
talk!’
    Midge looked at Tadgemole, surprised at his sudden anger. What was all this about?
    . . . which things do not concern you, maid. Do your part, if you can, and all will be made right. If you would speak with me, then come here. Come to this place, and at this light of the day if you can, and I shall do the same if I can, each day and at this light until we meet again.
    Midge wanted to learn more, but decided that it might be better not to ask. And besides, she had quite enough to think about as it was. ‘All right, then.’ She sidled through the barn doorway, narrowing her eyes against the sudden bite of the wind. ‘Brr! I’ll um . . . well, I’ll see you . . .’
    Briefly parted, maid. And soon united.
    â€˜Yes. At least . . . I hope so.’
    But as Midge stepped away from the barn, it seemed hardly likely that this parting was to be a brief one. She thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her fleece and started to negotiate the steep descent of Howard’s Hill, dodging among the coarse tufts of wet grass. How did you go about tracing long-lost ancestors? Where on earth would you even begin? No, she didn’t think that she would be seeing Pegs again for a while. She looked over her shoulder for a moment or two as she clumped down the slope, in order to take one last glance at the pig-barn. The Summer Palace. There wasn’t much that was summery about it today. Or palace-like. But what amazing secrets it held. Just so amazing . . .
    A few paces more and the little building had bobbed out of view.
Tap-tap-tap
. Midge heard a last faint rattling of the tin roof, an eerie sound floating away on the January wind. Maybe there was something unsettling in that sound, or maybe it was just the need to get warm, but at any rate she turned and gave in to gravity, allowing her legs to be carried forward in ever larger strides, one . . . two . . . three . . . four, until finally she was running – and very quickly running out of control. Arms flailing, she leaped and bounded down the hillside, kept upright only by a series of miracles, saw the sheep-gate rushing towards her and just managed to grab at one of the rails as she crashed up against it. She hung there for a minute, horribly winded, her heart thumping painfully in her bruised ribcage.
    Midge stared down at the buildings of Mill Farm until her vision stopped pulsating and she was at last able to catch her breath. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. She’d been lucky not to break her neck.

Chapter Five
    MIDGE SAT ON the corner of her bed, studying the pencil drawing that Tadgemole had given her. It wasn’t a very good drawing, and that was part of the trouble – the work of an