â alone, if you will.
âThe byre? You mean the pig-barn?â
Aye. Where first you found me, look for me there again.
The pale shadow of Pegs faded back into the night and disappeared. Midge remained at the window, watching, until the pain in her frozen fingertips brought her back into the present. She closed thelatch. Her whole body was shuddering quite uncontrollably now with the cold. In two seconds she was across the room and back into bed, squirming beneath her duvet, buried in its warmth. She rolled herself up into the tightest ball possible against the chilly world and her own troubled thoughts. Hibernation. What a brilliant invention that was. If only it could be for humans as well as for hamsters.
She found it easy enough to get away. Her mum was as distracted as ever with the business of Mill Farm, and Uncle Brian seemed to have made himself scarce sometime after breakfast. There was no reason for anyone to take much notice of Midge as she slipped around the corner of the old stable block and began to cross the Field of Thistles. The ground was still sodden from the winter rain, so that she had to keep one eye on where she was putting her feet, whilst keeping the other on her destination.
The Summer Palace, she had called it â that shabby little barn â when she had first spotted it from her bedroom window. Perched up there on the sunny slopes of Howardâs Hill, it had seemed a good place for a picnic. Midge winced at the memory of it. Some picnic that had turned out to be. Her fear and amazement at what she had found there came flooding back to her, along with a whole gallery of images: the sliding door that wouldnât budge, the dark interior of the barn that smelled of oil and hay and animal ammonia, and the strange and awful sight of the winged horse, Pegs,trapped and bleeding beneath the spiked wheels of the hay-rake . . .
Midge reached the sheep-gate at the end of the Field of Thistles, and stopped there for a moment. It was a stiffish climb from here up to the pig-barn, but she hadnât paused just to catch her breath. The low hamstone wall that circled the base of Howardâs Hill seemed like a barrier in more ways than one. It was the outer boundary to a foreign land, a line to be crossed or not. Once she stepped through this gate, she felt, there would be no turning back. Did she really want to do this? Was she really going to dive in headfirst all over again?
She might have decided against it after all, but then a brief squall of wind buffeted her neck and shoulders, so that it felt as though she were being nudged forward, encouraged to carry on. All right then, she would. The sheep-gate clanged behind her, and she began the climb that would bring her to the barn, now temporarily hidden from view behind the brow of the hill.
The little concrete building looked dismal and uninviting as Midge approached it. Part of the corrugated tin roof had come loose, a rusty sheet of metal that flapped and rattled in the early morning wind. The galvanized sliding door was still hanging at an awkward angle, just as it had been when Midge had last seen it. Not so very long ago, though it felt like years. She remembered how fearful she had been, creeping towards that door, ready to flee at any moment, yet drawn by the unearthly sounds fromwithin. Some of that fear returned to her now, and she came to a halt.
âPegs?â She called his name â not so much expecting a reply as warning him of her arrival. âAre you there?â The wind had dropped momentarily, and there was silence.
Midge looked at the gap at the side of the door, hoping that Pegs would appear, but there was no sign of him. She stepped onto the concrete platform upon which the barn was built and noisily scraped some of the mud off her boots, whilst keeping a hopeful eye on the entrance. Still nothing. Oh, all right then, have it your way. A final scrape of her Wellingtons, and she clumped over to
âThe byre? You mean the pig-barn?â
Aye. Where first you found me, look for me there again.
The pale shadow of Pegs faded back into the night and disappeared. Midge remained at the window, watching, until the pain in her frozen fingertips brought her back into the present. She closed thelatch. Her whole body was shuddering quite uncontrollably now with the cold. In two seconds she was across the room and back into bed, squirming beneath her duvet, buried in its warmth. She rolled herself up into the tightest ball possible against the chilly world and her own troubled thoughts. Hibernation. What a brilliant invention that was. If only it could be for humans as well as for hamsters.
She found it easy enough to get away. Her mum was as distracted as ever with the business of Mill Farm, and Uncle Brian seemed to have made himself scarce sometime after breakfast. There was no reason for anyone to take much notice of Midge as she slipped around the corner of the old stable block and began to cross the Field of Thistles. The ground was still sodden from the winter rain, so that she had to keep one eye on where she was putting her feet, whilst keeping the other on her destination.
The Summer Palace, she had called it â that shabby little barn â when she had first spotted it from her bedroom window. Perched up there on the sunny slopes of Howardâs Hill, it had seemed a good place for a picnic. Midge winced at the memory of it. Some picnic that had turned out to be. Her fear and amazement at what she had found there came flooding back to her, along with a whole gallery of images: the sliding door that wouldnât budge, the dark interior of the barn that smelled of oil and hay and animal ammonia, and the strange and awful sight of the winged horse, Pegs,trapped and bleeding beneath the spiked wheels of the hay-rake . . .
Midge reached the sheep-gate at the end of the Field of Thistles, and stopped there for a moment. It was a stiffish climb from here up to the pig-barn, but she hadnât paused just to catch her breath. The low hamstone wall that circled the base of Howardâs Hill seemed like a barrier in more ways than one. It was the outer boundary to a foreign land, a line to be crossed or not. Once she stepped through this gate, she felt, there would be no turning back. Did she really want to do this? Was she really going to dive in headfirst all over again?
She might have decided against it after all, but then a brief squall of wind buffeted her neck and shoulders, so that it felt as though she were being nudged forward, encouraged to carry on. All right then, she would. The sheep-gate clanged behind her, and she began the climb that would bring her to the barn, now temporarily hidden from view behind the brow of the hill.
The little concrete building looked dismal and uninviting as Midge approached it. Part of the corrugated tin roof had come loose, a rusty sheet of metal that flapped and rattled in the early morning wind. The galvanized sliding door was still hanging at an awkward angle, just as it had been when Midge had last seen it. Not so very long ago, though it felt like years. She remembered how fearful she had been, creeping towards that door, ready to flee at any moment, yet drawn by the unearthly sounds fromwithin. Some of that fear returned to her now, and she came to a halt.
âPegs?â She called his name â not so much expecting a reply as warning him of her arrival. âAre you there?â The wind had dropped momentarily, and there was silence.
Midge looked at the gap at the side of the door, hoping that Pegs would appear, but there was no sign of him. She stepped onto the concrete platform upon which the barn was built and noisily scraped some of the mud off her boots, whilst keeping a hopeful eye on the entrance. Still nothing. Oh, all right then, have it your way. A final scrape of her Wellingtons, and she clumped over to
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