springs and mushrooms of earlier.
“Mangy
wolves, feral cats, toxic spewing slugs, plants that spit venom at
you… the woods are lurking with things that can kill you in an
instant. People go missing in there, all the time, it’s so easy to
lose your way, and get lost, and then become someone’s
dinner.”
Bram and Jazz
had paled and were looking at the forest in horror.
“So, I
don’t want any of you entering the Wilds, or following the
path.”
Jazz and Bram
readily nodded.
“ Nettle?” pressed Fred.
Nettle
crossed her fingers behind her back. She smiled. “Of course, Dad,
whatever you say.”
“ Alright you lot, back to work then.”
Bram and
Jazz quickly made their way through the backyard, Jazz in the lead
swinging her hockey stick like a machete. Nettle went to follow and
was stopped. Her father grabbed her arm, twisting her hand back to
reveal her fingers still crossed. Fred wasn’t surprised. “Nettle,
you look like me, but you’re your mother’s daughter.”
Nettle
chewed on her inner lip, ashamed and a little annoyed at being
caught. She wondered what her punishment was going to
be.
“Jazz is
far too self absorbed to bother going into the Wilds and Bram’s
entirely trustworthy. You, on the other hand,” he wavered, his tone
growing softer. “Well, you’re impetuous like your mother, but
entirely capable.” Fred eyed Nettle hard. There was a long quiet
moment before he added, “However, if by some reason, you do happen
to enter the Forgotten Wilds, keep to the path and never, ever,
stray from it... OK?”
Nettle nodded, her eyes round. It was almost an invitation. Almost.
“OK?”
her father urged. “I need to hear you say it.”
“ OK, OK, Dad.”
“OK
then.” Fred broke out into a grin and playfully slapped his thigh.
“Good, now I’ve got things to do, so I’ll be in later for
lunch.”
Nettle
watched her father go back to one of the rocks he was trying to
relocate. She wondered why he made up those ludicrous creatures to
warn them away from the Forgotten Wilds. Her father really was
behaving very, very strangely, and she needed to find out
why.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Accusations
The next morning , Nettle was abruptly woken by the jarring sound
of Jazz’s bellow of fury. Jazz’s blotchy complexion was the hue of
her hair, a vibrant red. Utterly enraged, she grabbed the brightly
patterned quilt and hauled it from the bed, leaving Nettle and Bram
- who had crawled into her bed during the night with whisperings of
talking rats once more - exposed to the crisp autumn morning. At
the touch of cool air, goose-bumps rose in a rash of prickled skin
across Nettle’s chest and exposed arms.
Bram sat
up, blinking and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, wondering what
was going on, Nettle was beside him, looking just as
surprised.
For the moment it was highly amusing. Dressed in silk floral pyjamas,
Jazz stalked up and down the bedroom, her hands flying about in
agitation as she snarled and spat and roared.
“What’s going on?” Nettle asked, her voice slurred from sleep. She
ran a hand through her dishevelled mess of locks. Nettle couldn’t
make out too much, apart from the words “gone,” and “ruined,” as
well as “destroy you!”
“What’s going on?!” shouted Jazz, “ WHAT’S GOING ON?!” She stomped up the
side of the bed so she could lean down close to the
siblings.
Bram
flinched.
“As if
either of you don’t know. Stop playing dumb, and just tell me,
WHY!?” Jazz flicked Bram on the sensitive tip of the ear. Nettle
could tell her cousin wanted to do more than just flick his
ear.
“Ouch ,” Bram wailed, clamping a hand on his stinging ear,
squiggling away from her. Jazz’s hand snaked out as quick as a whip
and latched onto a handful of Nettle’s hair. She tugged down
viciously, dragging her cousin close.
Hot searing p ain flared across Nettle’s scalp. She yowled,
wondering if Jazz had torn a patch of hair from her head. Jazz’s
snarling
“Mangy
wolves, feral cats, toxic spewing slugs, plants that spit venom at
you… the woods are lurking with things that can kill you in an
instant. People go missing in there, all the time, it’s so easy to
lose your way, and get lost, and then become someone’s
dinner.”
Bram and Jazz
had paled and were looking at the forest in horror.
“So, I
don’t want any of you entering the Wilds, or following the
path.”
Jazz and Bram
readily nodded.
“ Nettle?” pressed Fred.
Nettle
crossed her fingers behind her back. She smiled. “Of course, Dad,
whatever you say.”
“ Alright you lot, back to work then.”
Bram and
Jazz quickly made their way through the backyard, Jazz in the lead
swinging her hockey stick like a machete. Nettle went to follow and
was stopped. Her father grabbed her arm, twisting her hand back to
reveal her fingers still crossed. Fred wasn’t surprised. “Nettle,
you look like me, but you’re your mother’s daughter.”
Nettle
chewed on her inner lip, ashamed and a little annoyed at being
caught. She wondered what her punishment was going to
be.
“Jazz is
far too self absorbed to bother going into the Wilds and Bram’s
entirely trustworthy. You, on the other hand,” he wavered, his tone
growing softer. “Well, you’re impetuous like your mother, but
entirely capable.” Fred eyed Nettle hard. There was a long quiet
moment before he added, “However, if by some reason, you do happen
to enter the Forgotten Wilds, keep to the path and never, ever,
stray from it... OK?”
Nettle nodded, her eyes round. It was almost an invitation. Almost.
“OK?”
her father urged. “I need to hear you say it.”
“ OK, OK, Dad.”
“OK
then.” Fred broke out into a grin and playfully slapped his thigh.
“Good, now I’ve got things to do, so I’ll be in later for
lunch.”
Nettle
watched her father go back to one of the rocks he was trying to
relocate. She wondered why he made up those ludicrous creatures to
warn them away from the Forgotten Wilds. Her father really was
behaving very, very strangely, and she needed to find out
why.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Accusations
The next morning , Nettle was abruptly woken by the jarring sound
of Jazz’s bellow of fury. Jazz’s blotchy complexion was the hue of
her hair, a vibrant red. Utterly enraged, she grabbed the brightly
patterned quilt and hauled it from the bed, leaving Nettle and Bram
- who had crawled into her bed during the night with whisperings of
talking rats once more - exposed to the crisp autumn morning. At
the touch of cool air, goose-bumps rose in a rash of prickled skin
across Nettle’s chest and exposed arms.
Bram sat
up, blinking and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, wondering what
was going on, Nettle was beside him, looking just as
surprised.
For the moment it was highly amusing. Dressed in silk floral pyjamas,
Jazz stalked up and down the bedroom, her hands flying about in
agitation as she snarled and spat and roared.
“What’s going on?” Nettle asked, her voice slurred from sleep. She
ran a hand through her dishevelled mess of locks. Nettle couldn’t
make out too much, apart from the words “gone,” and “ruined,” as
well as “destroy you!”
“What’s going on?!” shouted Jazz, “ WHAT’S GOING ON?!” She stomped up the
side of the bed so she could lean down close to the
siblings.
Bram
flinched.
“As if
either of you don’t know. Stop playing dumb, and just tell me,
WHY!?” Jazz flicked Bram on the sensitive tip of the ear. Nettle
could tell her cousin wanted to do more than just flick his
ear.
“Ouch ,” Bram wailed, clamping a hand on his stinging ear,
squiggling away from her. Jazz’s hand snaked out as quick as a whip
and latched onto a handful of Nettle’s hair. She tugged down
viciously, dragging her cousin close.
Hot searing p ain flared across Nettle’s scalp. She yowled,
wondering if Jazz had torn a patch of hair from her head. Jazz’s
snarling
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