Stile Maus by Robert Wise Page B

gloom of the woods and embark through a carpet of fallen leaves and spiky branches and head up towards the barn.  The wall of shrubbery and distorted twigs would cloak her movement, leaving any nosy onlookers none the wiser.  Emile entered the dim shade of the tree line and her skin soon forgot the warm touch of the sun, bubbling into a pattern of chilly goose bumps.  She embarked warily upon a bed of fallen leaves, brushing aside tall weeds and protesting branches.  After hastily stepping between each mazy obstacle the path had offered, Emile came to a halt.  She crept to the edge of the tree line, peering through the fencing of sliced ferns and stray branches.  The barn sat only a matter of yards away, just beyond a lake of bobbing dandelion heads and a neatly heaped pyramid of jagged fire wood.  It was paint thirsty, mourning the lost colour that the sun and rain had washed away over the years.  Birds flustered against its roof, pecking and squawking and hopping after one another, eager not to lose their place upon the thick stretch of sun glazed beams.   Emile edged forwards, careful not to breach the gloomy confines of her hiding place.  Twigs crackled under each wary step.
    ‘ Well, well, well.’ 
    Emile froze .  Her heart kicked, thumping against her trembling chest.  It took her a few seconds to realise that the voice, smooth and immature, did not belong to her Father, Mother or Uncle Pierre.  She turned to see the smug face of Benjami n Bouvier .  A part time friend, full time nuisance.
    ‘Spying are we?’
    ‘You’re one to talk,’ Emile snapped with a whispered hiss, looking back towards the cottage to make sure her cover had not been exposed.
    ‘What do you want?’  
    ‘You ought to talk to me a little nicer than that,’ he smirked, ‘especially if you want me to show you what I’ve been looking at all morning.’  A cigarette rolled across his bottom lip. 
    ‘Maybe I should tell your Father that you’ve been pinching his cigarettes again,’ she replied, g rinning at the possibility of temporarily quenching his infinite arrogance. 
    ‘Perhaps I’ll have a walk down to the fields, I’m sure I could find someone who would be interested in hearing about your little adventure.’  Emile grimaced.
    ‘So what’s this thing you’ve been looking at?’ she questioned, looking back at the barn and speaking with little interest.  Benjamin plucked the cigarette from his lips and dropped the butt, squashing it beneath his boot. 
    ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’  Though she hadn’t been looking at him she knew Benjamin wore a smile, the confidence in his soft voice gave it away.  She shot him a curious glance. 
    ‘Come on,’ he said, stretching out a hand, ‘you’re always complaining that nothing interesting ever happens around here.’
    ‘Maybe I’m on an adventure already,’ she provoked.
    ‘Spying on an old barn?  Doesn’t look like much fun.’  Emile rolled her eyes.
    ‘Well if you change your mind,’ Benjamin began, turning away from the thick bark he had been leaning upon,
    ‘You know where to find me!’  His boisterous yell echoed amongst the crowded treetops.  Emile scowled, glaring at his shaded figure as he trudged off into the woods.  She feared that her concealment had been compromised, how could it not have been?  The horses and cows drifting off in the meadows had most probably heard, raising them from a shallow, sun incited sleep.  
    ‘Imbecile,’ she rasped.  Taking one last look at the barn she sighed before following in the noisy footsteps of Benjamin Bouvier.
     
    Emile couldn’t help but be slightly sceptical.  The last time Benjamin had appeared boasting to have found something sight worthy they had ended up trekking half way across the countryside only to find that ‘the biggest frog he had ever seen’ had now vanished into thin air.  Lies were something he was not a stranger to and Emile knew that more often