Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (55 page)

Bram turned to
slide down into the driver’s seat. He’d fitted it with several
cushions to give him height to see over the dashboard. As Jack
opened the front passenger’s door and seated himself, Bram shot the
goblin an excited grin.

Nettle
mentally sighed, shaking her head at the motley bunch within the
motor-home. It was completely mad, she knew it. There wasn’t much
of a plan and little hope they would actually succeed. But the
spriggans were better than having no-one and this ill-conceived
plan was better than doing nothing.

She stood
behind Bram, gripping the back of his seat to brace herself . She
looked about Bessie, meeting all their expectant faces. “OK. Ready
everyone? Let’s go and save Dad.”

Bram pulled
the gear lever into reverse and kicked a foot toward the
accelerator. Roq pushed the peddle down and Bessie jerked backward,
rocking everyone inside. He put Bessie into drive and the
motor-home trundled toward the copse under his careful guidance.
The thorn-stems parted, allowing Bessie to leave. Bram had his
window down and Nettle heard Burban call out, “Good luck, young
Blackthorns!” The sentiment was repeated by Dodkin, Winger, Krinsky
and the others that made up the copse.

“
Be safe...”

“
Find your father...”

“
Best of luck...”

As Bram drove
down the driveway, in their wake the copse was still calling out
good-luck, like monks chanting litanies, fading with distance.
Nettle stared straight-ahead through the wind-shield at the
wavering mistiness. The Wilds enclosed either side of the driveway,
its trees and their craggy branches reached overhead and blocked
out the morning’s dim light, leaving them lost in darkness.

Jack glanced
up and over his shoulder at Nettle, his violet eyes gleamed with a
sense of adventure. She returned a small grim smile, her fingers
biting into the soft material of the head-rest. That familiar
tingling feeling was scouring down her back once more. They were
going to need all the luck they could muster.

... to be
continued.

Drop
by Winter’s Blog, feel free to ask questions about the Forgotten
Wilds or anything else, like, just what is Winter’s favourite meal
or why most of the movies she LOVES just happen to be science
fiction.

WinterWoodlark.com

Nettle
Blackthorn and the

Three
Wicked Sisters – Part Two

Nettle, Bram and Jazz, along with the goblin
– Jack Bedden-Trogg – and a motor-home full of spriggans, 
race back to Olde Town determined to rescue their father from the
clutches of the Balfreys’.

The wicked sisters of Olde Town have
sinister plans for Fred and Jazz. A plan that needs to be thwarted,
not only to save their father and cousin but every innocent mortal
caught up in the Balfreys’ wicked trap.

For Nettle and Bram saving everyone from the
Accursed Lysette is a rather tricky predicament one that will
require all their skill and cleverness.

Along their journey Nettle’s swept beyond
the Thicket where she’s brought face to face with Solstace Wittle;
Bram encounters the dwarf that crafted Nettle’s sword; and the
siblings discover just what is buried within Jack Bedden-Trogg’s
goblin mound.

Winter
Woodlark

Winter grew up beside the sea and her very
own wild woods which was the perfect place to spend her
childhood.

She always had her head in a book and one
day, quite young, decided that she was going to be an author.
Winter set up an old Imperial typewriter at the back of her
parents' store and when she wasn't working she wrote stories of
trolls, goblins and witches.

She and her partner live in a small seaside
community with their two boys, Tee Tee the dog, a resident wild
rabbit and a couple of chickens that refuse to believe they don't
live in the house.

Acknowledgements

This book,
book one in a series as sprawling as the Forgotten Wilds, took an
awfully long time to write. It was written during a time in my life
when I had a toddler and a baby on the way. So there were long
nights, early mornings and moments snatched whenever I could and
sometimes months when I couldn’t write at all.

There is
no way I could ever have written a single word without the support
of Nigel, who always pushed me to be a better writer. Nigel read
and edited and encouraged. He had an unwavering belief in the story
I was telling even when I fell into self-doubt. He made the best
coffee whenever I wrote and took care of the little lads while I
rambled within the Forgotten Wilds alongside Nettle and Bram. I
couldn’t have done this without you, thank you.

I am
eternally indebted to my mother, Marilyn (and Dad, who I think was
quietly surprised this book was actually finished), who always
believed in my dream of being a writer when I was a child. She
read, re-read, and then re-re-read, proofed, re-proofed – you get
the idea - my work, and patiently listened to the reasons why I was
changing the characters and plot after handing her draft after
draft to be read. She is my champion, an artist and writer, and one
of my best friends.

Special
thanks goes to Donnelly who shares my passion for writing, and whom
I am currently writing a novel with. Donnelly never really reads
these kinds of stories but jumped in without hesitation to assist
with proof-reading. Thanks Don!

I am
grateful for my BFF’s Bronwyn Angel and Claire Kelly who acted as
sounding boards which inspired many arguments and during the
process kept me sane.

Big thanks
goes out to my sister Roshelle and daughter Lily. Roshelle read the
final draft aloud (and almost lost her voice for several days) to
Lily, who, along with Michelle Moss, Bronwyn Angel, Claire Kelly,
Donnelly and Susan Wilson, were my very first readers and fans.

And lastly to
my two little lads Henry and Arthur who know I’ve written a book
but don’t give a fig.