Untitled Starfell #2 (Starfell #2) - Dominique Valente Page 0,8

sure where you begin and the shadows end, or if they end at all …

He swallowed as he sat up. There was a lump throbbing on his forehead.

The silence around him was unlike any he had ever known or grown used to in the forest of Wisperia, where there was always the sound of birds, the rustling of trees, the whisper of the wind … This was the absence of all that. It was nothing.

He called out to the nothing … which was when the fear started to build to a crescendo and the blood rushed in his ears, for no sound escaped his lips, even as he screamed …

4

Pimpernell, a ‘Hed’ Witch

As Willow flew up, past the dark woods and towards the warm glow of the midday sun peeking behind the trees, the hard knot twisting her stomach seemed to loosen slightly.

While she regretted having to leave her family behind in such a dramatic way, she felt a sense of purpose grab hold of her. It was the first time she’d felt anything like it since she’d found out about what had happened on that missing Tuesday – when she’d discovered that she’d lost Granny Flossy and the world had seemed to end.

Up through the trees, the wind in her hair, everything seemed to grow quiet, allowing her mind to sharpen, and she began to think.

And the main thing she thought was that she should have brought a map.

Willow reached into her pocket and took out her StoryPass, a magical device that resembled a compass and appeared to know things that she didn’t. It seemed to agree, as it was currently pointing to ‘One Might Have Suspected as Such’.

‘Do you think I should head east or west for Troll Country?’ she asked aloud. A green paw shot out of the bag, palm up, followed by a mumble about not exactly being able to see properly through a bag made of hair.

Also something about a cumberworld.

‘I suppose we’ll have to land and ask for directions,’ said Willow, pointing Whisper down towards a village on the edge of the woods.

But, as she began to descend, a flock of ravens helicoptered from the sky, making bloodcurdling cries that made her stomach take a dive. With a horrid thrill, Willow realised they were aiming straight for her, as if she were some rather large prey they’d quite like to gobble up.

‘What ON WOL?’ She screamed and twisted the broom till she veered away from the village below and almost flew straight into a clump of trees, earning herself several scrapes and scratches as she collided with a branch. She righted Whisper and tried to go back towards the village, but the ravens continued to circle her, making their odd cries.

In the hairy green carpetbag, she could hear high-pitched wails from Oswin. ‘Oh NOOOOO! Oh, me ’orrid aunt, I don’ wanna die as bird food!’

Heart pounding, Willow flew in the opposite direction through low branches, twigs smacking her in the face, until they crash-landed with a thud in a thick pile of leaves. Willow tumbled off Whisper, and the broomstick came to a halt a few feet away.

From her landing place, she looked up in immense relief to see the ravens soaring away, the air full of their eerie cries. With a shaking hand, she shaded a palm against her forehead, and noticed that one of the birds had a strange wing that appeared blue and made of something like smoke. She blinked, and it was gone.

Still breathing rather heavily, she dusted herself off, wincing as her grazed palms stung. Then she picked up the hairy green bag, which harrumphed. ‘WOT was that abouts?’

‘I don’t know,’ whispered Willow, who was having a hard time convincing her legs that they should move. She’d never known birds to behave that way. ‘I think it might be safer if we go by foot for a while.’ She fetched her broom, which was covered in mud and leaves, and put it over her shoulder with a frown.

It was late afternoon when she neared a clearing in the woods. She could see a hand-painted sign that read:

‘Hmmm, it doesn’t seem like these are the type of villagers who’d appreciate another witch on their doorstep,’ said Willow, looking at the pink graffiti that had been added by some daring soul to the bit about a witch in residence.

Oswin agreed. ‘Let’s SKEDADDLE!’

Willow turned to go back the way she’d come – only it was too late. There was a loud clanking