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The Ice Cream Fairies By Mehrbano Streams of chocolate sauce flow Down the ice cream hills The industrious fairies call to each other "Let's make chocolate mills!"

When the mills were built And the fairies were rich, The fairies cried "Stop!" to the sauce. //But the sauce wouldn't stop!//

Coming and coming Forming a lake Hotter and hotter 'til the fairies near baked!

Acknowledge with a frown Those fairies //did// drown In that horrible chocolatey mess Their souls the survivors bless.

So please little fairies, When you play Stay away from ice cream Or it may be //your// doomsday!

SNOW By Mehrbano Snow quietly falls Numbs my cold blue hands and feet Winter has arrived

Seasons by Katie f

Boiling, roasting days Icecream dripping on the sand The sun shining down

Whistling past my ears Knocking leaves from all the trees Piling on the ground

lots and lots of rain howling southerlies and sleet terrible weather

New leaves unfurling Petals blowing in the wind Bursting with new growth

Black a haiku by Josh W

As Black as the night Dust falling onto the ground Black resting on White.

The storm of Darkness Blowing wind from place to place Wind as cold as Night.

Dust blackening light Blotted out by the Darkness The colour of death.

White another haiku by Josh W

Fluffy golden white A blinding white for your eyes Waking from the night.

Blaze lighting the way Tiles brightening your path Colour of the sun.

Stars dotting the sky Tiny pinpoints of white light Wake from the nightmare.

The First Chapter Of My Book The Witch of Silver Moutains by Mehrbano Malik It gets better later on. This is like an intro. It needs editing... =__CHAPTER ONE__ =

It was a cool May afternoon in the Silver Mountains of Alaida^do^Avriny. In the topmost room of a big farmhouse on the outskirts of the village of Nynáeve, seven year old Ariana Sullivan opened her eyes sleepily and rolled out of her bed. She looked at the clock. So long past midday! Mother had let them sleep in. They deserved it. Her sister, Kayla, had left open the gate again and their cows had run away the evening before and they had spent most of the night chasing after them as the mischievous cows ran over hill and moor, generally leading the Sullivans on a wild goose-chase. Eventually Ariana and her elder sister Marta enticed the cows back into their field with some hay. Ariana pulled on her best linen dress and brushed her hair, gritting her teeth as the brush caught at the tangles. Marta sat up in the other bed, the smooth sheets sliding off her. “Today’s the day?” she whispered. Ariana nodded slowly, pulling on her coat. “It’s almost four,” she replied. Ariana ran down the stairs where her mother was waiting with some afternoon tea. “Here, Ari,” she said, handing her daughter bread and a mug of water. Ariana noted with a pang that it was yesterday’s bread, and the water was slightly gritty. The piece of buttered morning loaf and the mug of warm milk sitting on the table would be for Marta. But Ariana didn’t feel bitter about it; it was how she had grown up. Marta got the best, because she was the oldest. Ariana loved her mother and her older sister. She liked her sisters Kayla and Carrie too, but clashed dreadfully with Tara and Elizabeth. Her brothers, Joseph, Bartholomew (everyone called him Ollie) and Stefan (when his sisters were annoyed with him, they called him Stefanie) were quite nice, but more interested in the farm and the pretty girls on the sheep farm next door than (in Ollie and Stephan’s case) younger (and in Joseph’s case) older sisters. “Marta’s coming in a moment,” said Ariana between gulps of the water, edging in the direction of the door. “You go on, I’ll send her when she’s ready,” urged Mother as Ariana hesitated to leave the house. With a nod and a smile, Ariana set her mug down and ran out, down the path, and along cobble-stone road to the village green. Mother frowned at the sight of the dirty cup. Marta would have cleaned it, she thought. Ariana made a striking, though not very pretty, sight, running down the road to the village green. Her pitch black hair was as long as her shoulders, her eyes were bright silver, and didn’t have any flecks, but dark grey stripes from the pupil to the edge of the iris. Her name was suited her eyes, for Ariana was an Elvish name that meant silver. Her green dress was far too long for her and it flapped around her ankles. She tripped over it every few steps. The rickety wooden stage was already set up, a small chair at one side. Ariana joined the crowd of girls in front of it. She had not friends to seek out. She did not see an old lady with shrewd eyes watching her closely. In a few minutes, Ariana was joined by Marta. “Am I late?” Marta panted, mopping her brow. “No, it hasn’t even begun, “whispered Ariana reassuringly. “That is a good thing as you are probably going to get chosen.” (As afore mentioned, Ariana adored Marta.) Marta blushed and opened her mouth to say something when Ariana suddenly murmured “Look!” An old man, who she knew was the mayor, had climbed onto the stage, wheezing slightly, with a huge megaphone in one hand which he now held to his mouth. “Girls of Nynáeve Village, you have gathered here today because our Village Witch is getting old and wants to choose an apprentice. She has been secretly watching all of you to see if you have any talent of magic. And here she is!” The crowd applauded as an elderly woman climbed up onto the stage to stand next to the man. She had dark grey hair tied up in a bun, one green eye and one brown eye. He offered her the megaphone, but she shook her head slightly, looked at the girls below and spoke in a quiet, clear voice that cut through the whispers like a hot knife through soft butter. “As our mayor said, I am looking for an apprentice to succeed me. However, he did not tell you what qualities I want. The first is the courage. The second is truthfulness. The third is loyalty. The fourth is selflessness. The fifth is self-control. Of course, magical talent is needed, but without these things, the magic is worthless to me.” Ariana thought that this was almost the exact description of Marta. She gazed at her older sister with admiration, and Marta smirked. Everyone in the village expected her to be chosen, and Marta would be revered and admired. She might even marry a prince! “I have observed the girls of the correct age for three months. I have only found one with //all// the things I want,” continued the Witch. “She will come and live with me at my house until her apprenticeship is complete and I die.” The Witch looked at all the girls beadily. “Her name is –“ Ariana raised her hands to clap for Marta. “– Ariana Sullivan.” Ariana just stood there foolishly, her hands still in the air. Someone suddenly pushed her forwards. “Go up, you idiot!” they whispered. The crowd cleared a broad path for her as Ariana stumbled up to the stage where the Village’s Witch was standing with the mayor. She was smiling at Ariana. Suddenly, Ariana realised what had happened. She wanted to jump and sing and laugh and dance all at the same time, but all she did was thank the Witch quietly. She then sat down at the seat the Witch offered her. “Good,” murmured the old Witch as she passed Ariana to the front of the stage. “You have learnt to control your emotions.” Ariana smiled slightly awkwardly, but as she opened her mouth to say something, the Witch addressed the audience again. “I know that you are all disappointed –“ //Disappointed is an understatement//, Ariana thought, watching some girls howling with tears. “–but I have to admit it wasn’t a very difficult choice. You all possess some of the qualities I wanted. Ariana had all of them and the bonus of magical talent. I shall see you all at the next fair. Fortune telling with tarot cards costs three quagmires.” With that she turned on her heel and walked off the stage. Ariana clambered off the stage. Marta was nowhere to be found, and Ariana assumed her older sister had gone home to tell their mother the good news. Ariana ran as fast as she could to her house and burst into the kitchen. Mother was chopping up leeks, and Marta was sitting on the kitchen shelf. “Mother! Mother! I ...” Her voice died away as she saw the satisfied expression on Marta’s face. “You know dear, Marta’s quite upset about not being chosen,” said Mother quietly, putting down her knife and tipping the leeks into a pot. “Well, she is older than you and is more experienced –“ Ariana felt more and more horrified. “- so we thought that you should, for the good of the village and our family, give the job up to her.” Ariana began to cry. “But I want to do it, Mother! This is the first time I’ve been chosen for //anything!//” “Stop being such a selfish pig, Ariana,” said Marta smoothly. “I’m older and cleverer than you, and I am not doing it for only myself, but for the village.” Mother looked uncomfortable, but Marta had always been her favourite of her nine children. She stirred the pot vigorously. “Dry your eyes, Ariana, and go and tell the Witch that Marta will be replacing you.” “What if I don’t?” snapped Ariana. “Mother will //make// you,” replied Marta for Mother. “Or she won’t give you her blessing or your dowry.” Mother looked even more uncomfortable, and her spoon slowed a little. “Isn’t that a bit too harsh, Marty?” “No, Mother. This is for the good of our village,” responded Marta. Mother shrugged with a sigh, and began stirring the pot again. “Go, Ariana. Tell the Witch we’ll be there with Marta’s luggage in fifteen minutes.” Ariana glared through a haze of tears at her mother and sister. “I don’t want any soup,” she said. “Your soup is disgusting.” Before her mother could cry out in rage, Ariana ran out of the house.

__CHAPTER TWO__

Ariana walked resolutely down the garden path, across the now-empty Village Green; like everyone in the village she knew where the Witch lived. As she turned down onto Lake Path, she dully contemplated a life of being overshadowed by her favourite sister. Suddenly, Ariana stopped and thought. She recalled her last birthday. Even though it was her special day, Marta had got presents too. On Midsummer Eve, Marta had got a small boat so she could row on the lake and a dress made of real silk whilst Ariana had got three biscuits and a pinafore which was too small for her. On Easter, Marta got three chocolate eggs as big as her fist filled with fudge, but Ariana had received a small, hollow one. Ariana started walking again, faster than before. She remembered when her mother’s friend had come last year, the children had been introduced. The boys had run off before she came, but the girls had been introduced properly. She remembered Mother had said, “This is my youngest Elizabeth. Her curls are so becoming with her face. This is the naughtiest girl in our family, and a red head with it, Kayla. This is Tara, who’s very good at riding, but it messes up her hair, that’s //such// a nice brown. This is Carrie. Her skin is lovely, isn’t it? That’s Ariana, and //this// is my Marta. She’s //so// talented at //everything//, you know, and she has such //beautiful// colouring, all roses and cream. Her golden curls and blue eyes make her look like a princess.” “The way you say it, Mother, it sounds like your advertising us,” the six year old Ariana had said. Mother had coloured, and hissed in her friend’s ear, not quietly enough for Ariana to not hear her, “Ariana is a trouble-child. She looks so unattractive, and is bad at everything except cooking. She’s very rude.” “Six of your daughters are lovely,” Mother’s friend had said loudly. “The seventh, however,” her bulgy eyes rested on Ariana, “needs to learn to respect her elders and betters.” Ariana, her eyes blurred with tears, had turned to Marta for comfort. She had received what at that time she thought was a sympathetic smile, but now she realised it had been triumphant and mocking. Ariana suddenly realised she had arrived at the Witch’s cottage. She gulped, and rapped on the door. The door opened immediately like someone had been waiting for her knock. The Witch smiled at Ariana. “Sit down, I’ve been expecting you,” she said steering Ariana into a small sitting room. The Witch pushed Ariana into an easy-chair and hung a kettle above the fire. She sat down with a contented sigh. “Er. . . Ms Witch,” began Ariana timidly. “Call me Witch Lucita,” interrupted the Witch with a wave of her hand. “Witch Lucita, my. . . my sister is going to replace me as your apprentice.” Ariana couldn’t bear it anymore and she burst into tears again. “Oh, dear child, what is wrong?” cried the Witch. “Mother wants my sister Marta to replace me as your apprentice,” Ariana sobbed. “Why?” “She says it’s for the good of the village. Mother said she wouldn’t give me her blessing or my dowry when I’m married if I didn’t tell you that Marta would replace me.” “Dry your eyes my dear. Oh, and I’d like to speak to your mother and your sister.” “Which sister?” asked Ariana, wiping her eyes on her handkerchief. “I’ve got six.” Witch Lucita gave a sigh. “Marta, obviously.” “They should be here soon with Marta’s clothes.” Suddenly there was a knock at the door. “They are here already,” muttered the Witch, striding out of the door. Suddenly she felt a pull at her sleeve. It was Ariana. “Please, Witch Lucita,” she whispered. “You will keep me as your apprentice, won’t you?” Witch Lucita smiled. “Of course! I hand-picked you out of the whole village! Now, let me answer the door. Oh, the cocoa jar is on the mantelpiece with mugs and buns, and the kettle is boiling. Make yourself a drink.” She left the room. Ariana listened carefully as Witch Lucita opened the door and invited her mother and sister in. She jumped up and made some cocoa for herself. She was hungrily licking the cream off a chocolate-iced bun when Marta strode arrogantly into the room. “//This// is where I’m supposed to live?” she asked disdainfully of no one in particular. She caught sight of Ariana, who was staring at her, shocked by her sister’s cruel words. “Why are //you// here? You aren’t the Witch’s apprentice anymore!” snapped Marta. Ariana didn’t reply, but just sat there, sipping her cocoa thoughtfully and staring at Marta with eyes no longer screened by admiration. Witch Lucita and Mother came in, and the Witch offered Mother a chair. She then sat down herself. Marta sat down too. “Now, don’t you agree that every human has rights?” asked Witch Lucita politely of Marta and Mother. “Of course!” cried Mother. “Even Witches?” “//Especially// Witches,” said Marta firmly. “Do Witches have a right to choose their own apprentices?” “Yes, but –“ “Without interference from members of the village who have no real experience in magic?” “Yes, but –“ “Then why was Ariana told that Marta was replacing her as my apprentice? She was very distraught.” “Well,” Mother said uncomfortably. “Marta is older, and she was extremely upset when Ariana got the place that she, as the eldest daughter if the family should have got. Plus, she’s //much// cleverer than Ariana is. Marta scored seventy-eight percent higher than Ariana in the G. F. K. E.” Witch Lucita wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. “What’s the G. F. K. E.?” “It’s the ‘General Farm-Knowledge Exam’.” Witch Lucita pounced. “//Yes!// Exactly my point! ‘General //Farm-//Knowledge Exam! Not ‘General //Magic//-Knowledge Exam! Whilst Marta is good on a farm (I suppose), Ariana is brilliant at magic.” “Is this just because I can’t do magic?” said Marta suddenly. “Of course my dear –“began Mother at once. “No,” replied Witch Lucita. “Not only because of that. It’s also your character. Witches can’t afford to be selfish. You are. You prefer to laze about than help your sisters with their work. You lack courage. You’d rather let one of your little sisters squash a poisonous spider than yourself. You –“ “STOP IT!” screamed Marta as loud as she could. She stood up. “STOP TELLING SUCH HORRIBLE LIES ABOUT ME!” “Marty. . .” whispered Mother, frightened. “MOTHER, //MAKE// HER TAKE ME AS HER APPRENTICE!” “But Marty. . .” “MOTHER, TELL HER IF SHE DOESN’T TAKE ME, SHE’S AN OLD HAG!” Now Ariana stood up too, knocking over her nearly full mug. “//You take that back!//” “I SHAN’T! AND STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO, YOU SILLY GIRL!” Marta then ran to the fire and pulled out the kettle of boiling water. Mother and Witch Lucita rose now. Reacting instinctively, Ariana pointed her finger at Marta and shouted “Ice!” summoning a power in her she hadn’t ever used consciously before. Suddenly, she felt something draining her energy, using it to make something. She knew no more.

“Ariana! Ariana!” Ariana opened her eyes slowly. She was lying on the ground in the Witch’s sitting room. Suddenly, she remembered Marta, poised to throw the kettle of boiling water and sat up at once. “Marta!” “Don’t worry, she’s quite alright!” For some strange reason, the Witch seemed to be holding back laughter. “Alright? //Alright?//” wailed Mother. “You used magic,” observed Witch Lucita. “You were aiming to freeze the water in the kettle?” “I wanted to freeze it,” agreed Ariana shakily. “What happened?” “Um. . . you got a little over-excited,” said Witch Lucita beginning to chuckle. “You see –“She moved out of the way. “–you froze //all// of her!” Ariana gave a gasp as she saw Marta, and then suddenly burst into laughter. There was an ice-cube four feet high and about three feet wide next to the fire. Though the ice was white, Ariana could still her sister encased inside with an ugly look on her face. Behind her, she could hear Mother begging Witch Lucita to unfreeze Marta, and Ariana spun around at once. “No! Please leave her as she is! When she’s normal again, she’ll probably //murder// me!” “Please, Ari!” “Actually,” said Witch Lucita thoughtfully. “It would make a good learning exercise for you to do! I won’t tell you what to do; you will have to figure it out yourself. Go on, Ariana!” she added comfortingly, seeing the frightened expression on Ariana’s face. “OK,” said Ariana, trying to keep calm. //Even if she does attack me, I can always use magic to defend myself.// She pointed her finger at the giant ice-cube and shouted “Melt quickly, ice!” She felt the draining of her energy, and almost fell. “No!” wailed Witch Lucita, but it was too late. The ice melted so fast that no one had time to do anything. The icy water from it sloshed over the floor. They were soon standing ankle deep in it. “Oops,” said Ariana meekly. Marta emerged, spluttering, clinging to the kettle like a life line. She shook the water out of her hair and turned to the adults and her sister. “What. . . what happened. . .?” she whispered. This was exactly the opposite of what Ariana thought her sister would be like. She had expected Marta to be even madder than before, angrier beyond belief. But here was her older sibling, pale and frightened, shivering and shaking with cold and fear. “Come on, darling,” whispered Mother comfortingly, taking Marta in her arms. Ariana felt a pang of loneliness, watching her mother hug Marta. Mother had never hugged //her//. She turned away sadly as Mother ushered her favourite daughter out of the room.

** __ CHAPTER THREE __ **

“So, Ariana, have you brought some clothes?” said a cheerful voice behind her. Ariana spun around; she had forgotten about Witch Lucita. “Um, no, I haven’t. I thought Marta was going to be your apprentice, so I didn’t bring anything.” “Go and get them now.” Ariana nodded dumbly, and ran out the house, down the lake-path, across the Village Green and home. She crept into the kitchen silently. She could hear voices from the dining-room; her family was eating an early supper. Ariana tip-toed up the stairs, down the passage, and into her and Marta’s room. Moving as quickly as she could, Ariana picked up her rucksack and began to push things into it. In went her books, her clothes, everything she owned. Not that there was much of it. She slung the bag over her shoulders and crept stealthily down the stairs. She was walking towards the kitchen door, when the door of the dining-room opened and her father came into the kitchen. Luckily he was looking over his shoulder and talking to the people in the other room before he turned around. //Un//luckily, Ariana had been too shocked to move until he turned. “ARIANA SULLIVAN!” he roared as he saw her. Ariana’s legs remembered how hard her father’s hands were, especially when it came to beating Ariana herself (beloved Marta was //never// hit and the rest of her sisters hardly ever), and decided to start sprinting. Ariana bolted out the door like a rabbit escaping a fox. Her father ran after her, bellowing “YOU GET BACK HERE ARIANA SULLIVAN, BEFORE I BEAT THE HIDE OFF YOU!” “No thanks!” shouted Ariana over her shoulder. “You’ll beat me anyway!” “COME BACK!” “WHY DON’T YOU GO AND HIT DARLING MARTA FOR A CHANGE?” yelled Ariana’s mouth before her brain could catch up. //Oh, heck, now I really am in the muck. They’ll never leave me alone for that!// Ariana was shocked to find she was crying again. She picked up speed, running towards the lake. //There’s only one quick escape//, she thought. She ran along the jetty and jumped up. . . up. . . and out. She landed in the lake with a splash, and swam away strongly. She could hear her father, jumping up and down on the jetty in frustration, then a splash as he fell in. She kicked as hard as she could and swam quickly towards the Witch Lucita’s house in the distance. Ariana could feel herself tiring, but she only had to swim another yard before she reached the shore by the Witch’s house. She rocks beneath her feet, and walked out of the water onto the sandy beach. She then turned around, and screwed up her eyes. Ariana could see her father, far away, climbing back onto the jetty. She laughed with relief as she walked up to Witch Lucita’s house. The door swung open as she reached out to knock it. Ariana blinked. Sitting there was a big red tabby cat. Suddenly a voice appeared in her head. I suppose that’s Lucita’s apprentice. The voice was of a male. Ariana gasped. Was it just her imagination, or did that cat just speak to her? Yes, I did speak to you. The cat blinked at her. You aren’t very polite are you? You’re wet too, added the cat in disgust. “Um, I was running away from my father,” explained Ariana uncomfortably. This cat seemed more likely to tick her off than Witch Lucita. “I had to jump into the lake.” Apprentices are always too dramatic and over-excited as my dear sister warned me. . .  commented the cat. Come, my mistress is waiting. The cat rose and led Ariana past the small sitting room she had been in before. You caused a lot of havoc just before, remarked the cat. Thought not as much as some have. Ariana nodded, figuring it would be better to keep her mouth shut and appear to be dumb rather than open her mouth and let her inexperienced tongue show she was. Sensible idea. The cat now waved her into a room with a careless flick of his tail. He followed her in, drawling  Your new apprentice, Lulu. Ariana looked around the room. It was a big kitchen, with pots hanging above the stove and dried herbs dangling from the ceiling. “Stop it Kamanzi! You know I hate being called that.” Witch Lucita turned around. She had been stirring a big pot. “Ariana! What a mess you’re in. Let me clean you up.” Witch Lucita muttered a few words, pointing at Ariana. Suddenly, Ariana was dry and warm again. She gasped in surprise. Witch Lucita smiled. “Now you see the power of magic.” She turned back to the pot. “Pass me the parsley, would you?” Ariana reached up and pulled a bunch of parsley off a string. “I see Kamanzi has greeted you.” “The talking cat?” Witch Lucita smiled as she tossed the parsley into the pot. “He is my ‘Witch’s Cat’.” “Your //what//?” “My ‘Witch’s Cat’.” Ariana nodded. She had read about them in stories, but she had never known they existed. Well, you know now. Ariana winced at Kamanzi’s sarcasm. “You’ll be getting your own soon,” added Witch Lucita. She tasted the stew in the pot and pulled a face. Ariana heard a new voice in her head. //Kamanzi, have you been playing with the salt again? //  Kamanzi fidgeted guiltily. I didn’t //mean// to let it fall over. Witch Lucita sighed and shook her head sadly. “Ariana, when you get your ‘Witch’s Cat’, I hope it isn’t as naughty as Kamanzi.” I beg your pardon! Kamanzi sounded outraged. I’m not nearly as bad as some cats we’ve met! Witch Lucita laughed as she added rosemary and garlic to the pot then turned to Ariana. “Ariana, could you taste this for me?” Ariana obediently took the full ladle Witch Lucita offered her, and tasted the stew. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted in her life. The meat was succulent and juicy, the vegetables were in the prime, and the broth was beyond words. She licked her lips slowly, relishing the taste of something that wasn’t cold, burnt, greasy, or hard. “It’s scrumptious,” she sighed. “A good thing too,” said Witch Lucita, glowering at Kamanzi. “Or //someone// might have been in big trouble.” The apprentice likes it! My name is Ariana,  replied Ariana without thinking, and then clapped her hands over her mouth. She did it Lucita! She did it without being taught! cried Kamanzi in amazement. Witch Lucita was as astonished as Kamanzi. She turned to Ariana. “I had set out lots of beginner’s work for you to do in the morning, but you can Mind-Speak! I never knew of an apprentice who has been able to do it without hard work!” She stopped and thought. “Though then again. . .”    Perhaps it is //not// so very surprising,   Kamanzi finished. The two exchanged a knowing look. “Come,” said the Witch suddenly. “We’ll eat some supper.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Ariana awoke the next morning in her room at the Witch’s cottage. A glance at the clock on the wall told her that she had ten minutes till she should get dressed. Ariana sat up and organised her thoughts. * She was a Witch’s apprentice and was going to learn magic * Darling Marta was no longer Darling Marta. * She had been practically disowned by her family. * But she didn’t care, for life as an apprentice was much better. * She would be getting a ‘Witch’s Cat’ in five years time. * She was better than any other apprentices at magic. *   Magic was very interesting. She remembered her discussion with Witch Lucita the evening before. ‘“Magic is everywhere,” Witch Lucita had said. “Some people are born with the talent of harnessing the magic to do what one wills.” “Why did I faint when I used magic?” “First of all, magic is influenced by emotions. You have to be careful when using magic that you don’t go overboard. The more feeling you put into the word, the more magic you use.” “Will magic ever run out?” asked Ariana. “No. Magic is made every day, like more plants push up, whether or not they are planted.” Witch Lucita took a deep breath. “Another reason why you fainted, Ariana, is that you used English. The human language does not like magic, and will reject it. The only way to make magic through English is by forcing your spell through the words. This requires a lot of energy. The only language that embraces magic is Elvish.” “So I’ll have to learn another language?” Ariana asked, wrinkling her nose at the thought. “Yes.”’ Apprentice? Ariana looked up, startled back to the present. Yes, Kamanzi? Witch Lucita is waiting. I’m coming.

// Part Two //

CHAPTER FIVE

My Dyery Diery Diary Dere Diary The day before yesterday i was made the which’s apprintice aprentice! I have relised that Marta and Mother were acksherly quite //meen// to me. Kamanzi sed Mother was something called idyotik and which Lucita sed be quite Kamanzi or ill have your guts for garters. What is idyotic, garters, and guts? Which Lucita ses im rele good at magic for seven yers old. Im glad. But theres something in me, diary, that stirs wen i say Elvish. Wen i told which Lucita this, she went all quite and then bussled around, trying to ignore my queschun and muterd away to herself. But diary, //i cood hear her!// She was on the other side of the kitchen and I heard her! She was saying oh no she cant find out therell be big trouble when she does relise oh its all my folt. I wonder wot in the Silver Mountains she meant. Elvish: Silver Mountains: Sylvar (silver) mylaras (place of rock and metal). Ariana Sullivan. I like my name, but I dont think it’s very wich-like.

//Two years later. . .//

Dear Diary Witch Lucita and Kamanzi can be really weird. Once every so often, they mind-talk to each other, not nowing I can hear them. They talk about elves and me and somewun else called Tarys. I cant spell it. In two and a half yers time, Im going to get my witchs cat. I hope its a black one then Ill call it Shadow. Kamanzi says that black cats are steriotipicul and witch Lucita said Kamanzi you better shut your trap or else. She said let girls have their fantasies and its not my folt she doesnt now about how witches can have any colour cat they like. Then she went back to teaching me how to turn nives into nights. The horses are hard to do. Elvish Horse: harera Nives: sreegal Nights (the type with sords): Hulir (human) yral (metal) ina (in). Ariana.

// Three years later. . . //

Dear Diary At last! I have my own ‘Witch’s Cat’! This morning, Witch Lucita took me to a house in the Jade Woods. The house was brimming with cats of every shape and colour. It was an amazing sight! <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">An elderly Witch took us through the house. Witch Lucita introduced her as Witch Aimee of Jade Forest Cats. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Witch Aimee was very nice. As we walked she told me exactly how to care for my new cat. I ticked off things in my head. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-variant: normal! important; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">ü <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Cushion <span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-variant: normal! important; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">ü <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Toys <span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-variant: normal! important; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">ü <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Scratching post <span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-variant: normal! important; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">ü <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Litter box <span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-variant: normal! important; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">ü <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Space on my bed to sleep on. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-variant: normal! important; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">ü <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Food and water <span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-variant: normal! important; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">ü <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Brush <span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-variant: normal! important; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">ü <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Mentor ‘Witch’s Cat’ (Kamanzi). <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">I couldn’t help it, diary, I hoped there was a black cat with bright green eyes like in my fairy tales. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">And there was. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">We entered a warm cosy room with a big pen and lots of toys and kittens in it. There was one white kitten, one red tabby like Kamanzi, one tortoiseshell, a brown tabby, a grey and white, and //one black kitten!// <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Oh how I wanted it! <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">“These are the two litters of ‘Witch’s Cats’” said Witch Aimee. “Pick up whichever one you like. But remember, this cat will be part of you. It has to //feel// right. When you become a Witch, you will be able to mind-speak with your cat.” <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">I carefully climbed over the pen side, and six kittens leapt at the opportunity of a cuddling. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">However, as I looked at the black kitten now winding, purring, around my ankles, I felt a wave of. . . what’s the word. . . repulsion. Not disgust, just a feeling of not. . . //belonging.// <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Then I suddenly picked up a feeling, a sort of calling. I slowly raised my head. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Sitting quietly in one corner was a beautiful silver tabby kitten. Her eyes were pale green and she was looking at me intently. Unlike the other kittens, she wasn’t trying to get cuddled, but observed me quietly, like I watched people when I was helping Witch Lucita with the fortune telling. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">I held my arms out to her. As she leapt into them, a word sprung to my lips. //Luna// //<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">. // <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">I suddenly had a feeling that all my life, even my five years with Witch Lucita had been incomplete. Luna completed it all. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">When I turned around with her in my arms, and the two Witches were smiling at me. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Every time Luna and I go downstairs, we stand near Kamanzi on purpose and smile (Azura smiles though she’s just a kitten) and wink at each other whilst he is looking. It drives him up the wall! Literally! <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Now Luna and I are sleepy, and longing to get to sleep. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Goodnight, Diary! <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Ariana and Luna. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script','sans-serif';">Water: Narí. Fire: Fyr.

With a contented sigh, twelve-year old (almost thirteen, as she liked to put it) Ariana put down her pen and screwed shut the ink-bottle. It had one-thousand eight-hundred and twenty-seven entries in it starting from the day after she became an apprentice, yet there was still quite a few pages left. Ariana had bought it with her meagre savings the day before the Choosing. Luna surveyed the open diary gravely. She reached out a small paw and patted her name, written in the now dried ink.

okay, dudes, let's start a whole different story. this is about a kid who lives in san fransisco, somewhere ... well, it's kind of self-explanatory. let's see how you like it. btw, it's called joshua warning. it just came out of nowhere. don't think i've got an ego. i don't.

<span style="font-family: 'SchoolHouse Printed A',helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 40px; line-height: 60px;">Prologue

A sharp, stung voice brought me back to reality. Mrs. Waster. Uh-oh! I thought. Evasive maneuvers! ‘Mr. Warning,’ she said, glaring at me from her big block of wood that teacher’s call their ‘headquarters’. ‘Care to join us?’ Just don’t say anything stupid, I thought. Don’t do anything stupid either. You’re unpopular enough already. ‘Yes, Miss,’ I mumbled self-consciously, eyeing my test out of the corner of one eye. Sure, I hate tests, as any sane school-kid does, but. . . dyslexia really kicks it up a notch. Now I’m scared of just reading, more or less schoolwork more or less a test. Right now, this test was giving me an evil eye. Literally. The words were all backwards, moving around in a squiggly pattern. Stupid dyslexia. I moaned out through my nose, and tried t o decipher the first word. To me, it looked like this: nSyctpaion. Now, what was that. . . ? I raised my hand. Better to actually know what the first word is rather than to sit there with a head full of fuzz. ‘Hey, Miss?’ Mrs. Waster looked at me in a weird way. ‘What is it, Warning?’ Okay, so let’s get this whole ‘Warning’ thing straight. My name’s Joshua. Joshua Warning. My Dad’s this old storm-chaser, who’s wanted to win a competition since he was young. Our family’s lost it every year for the past twenty years. And the girl behind me, her family had won it all those times. Something had gone bad between them, and, apparently, she wasn’t allowed to talk to me. Nor look at me. Or. . . well, you get me. ‘So. . . what’s the first word?’ ‘Syncopation, Warning.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘You do know what syncopation is, right? Page 42 of your Student Book.’ I tried to look sheepish. Wasn’t hard. ‘Uh. . . well. . . with my dyslexia and all. . .’ Mrs. Waster sighed again. ‘Syncopation is when the rhythm of a piece of music doesn’t match the time signature.’ ‘Ah.’ I tried to decipher the rest. In fact, I was nearly done by the time everyone else was finished. Half a minute after that, the test finished. Dyslexia. Ick. But there was something wrong. What was it? When I turned around, the girl behind me looked away quickly. I realized she’d been staring at my test paper. In fact, When I looked at hers, she looked back at me. And that surprised me. Three minutes later, things were back to normal. More or less.
 * I ** sat on my desk, watching the little birds fly by. Without having the burden of being on the ground. Marvelous.

Chapter One

This stuff really blows my mind, but. . . essays. . . I would shiver at the mere mention of the thing. The only thing I’m really good at is boxing, because I’m small, and ICT, because I’ve got a computer brain the size of a basketball. So, now to introduce another character. The girl is called Thalia. Thalia. . . Stone, I think. I just call her Stone-girl, because she generally looks emotionless. Sometimes there a calculating look as big as mine, but, like me, her mind looks like a blank TV – empty, and full of pink noise. Stonlyke. Apparently it’s an old Indian family. They’re famous for their brain-box gene. Guess what? I’m not. Today we had ICT. My grades, normally, were terrible, but not in this. A+ every time. In fact, tonight I was going to change them before my uncle go hold of them. When that happens, hell gets transferred. The funny thing is, I can hack into any website you care to ask, but can’t get above a D-. So, tonight, all that is going to change. Once I climbed over the shabby fence my Mom and Dad once put up, I walked slowly into the family room, hoping my ‘caregiver’ wasn’t here yet. ‘Hey, kiddo. Want to help your sister with her work?’ Curse my luck. ‘Do I have to?’ I moaned. Idiot-face, my uncle, glared at me. ‘Well, I’m here now. I take care of you. Unless you want to be disowned, and I’m sure you won’t want to be, then I’d suggest you shut up and get on with her work.’ ‘Yes, father,’ I mumbled self-consciously. He just glared at me as I started doing the dishes – something my sister should have been doing, but wasn’t. I still don’t know why. Where was she, anyway? ‘Hello,’ called a sing-song voice from the front door. I closed my eyes and was just about to hit myself, when. . . ‘Kid,’ whispered Idiot-face loudly. ‘Say hello. Or you’ll be doing her homework too.’ ‘Hello, Lauren.’ ‘Yo, Josh!’ ‘Don’t call me that.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘I don’t like it.’ ‘Why not?’ I closed my eyes and punched myself. Hard. ‘Ow.’ ‘Heh. You punched yourself.’ ‘Lauren, don’t you have something better to do?’ ‘Oh, homework, right! Thanks!’ My little cousin ran upstairs, towards her overly furnished room. It’s not fair. All I’ve got is my bed and a little wooden table. ‘You weren’t nice, kid. Go and help her.’ ‘What? But I already –’ Idiot-face gave me a murderous look that said something like this; ‘shut up kid or you’ll be disowned before you have time to say “no” ’. So I shut my face and went to do my cousin’s homework. So, that is my life. Go to school, fail tests, come home, do work, go to bed. In one word; boring! I went up the stairs, not really caring whether or not I had to do my cousin’s housework and homework. I’m going to stand up to that loser. But, now, with my Dad out of the game, someone’s got to continue the family legacy. One of these days, I’m going to stand up to that loser. And even if he disowns me, at least I’ll have the pleasure of doing so. And in a few years my Dad will be out of hospital anyway.
 * T **here may be nothing else I feared on Earth, but the one thing is truly was creeped to death of was – English essays.

I wasn’t overly bothered about school – besides the fact that we had a Latin test tomorrow, and I could hardly read a word of it. Hadn’t studied, either. Was I in trouble or what? Mr. Saunders, our Latin teacher, pouted at us all. Probably, he caught the guilty expression on my face and was trying to find it in the others’. Didn’t work! After we were all here, and five of us were handed demerits for being late, Mr. Saunders handed out the tests. It was to be handwritten (oh, joy) and, just to make it worse, we had ten minutes. I couldn’t write a paragraph in ten minutes. ‘Your ten minutes start,’ Mr. Saunders paused, checked his watch, waited for eight seconds, and said, ‘now!’ I hurriedly turned over my sheet and started. I knew a few words, but not as many. Okay. . . et, ad, nouum, latine, editio, secundum, qui. . . that’s it. I recognized some others from last time. About halfway through, a little bird landed on the windowsill next to me. It chirruped, until I turned my head to look at it. It was very nice – maybe ten centimeters tall, with bright, happy eyes. Brown, too. Like mine. It looked back at me, and there was something weird in its eyes. Like. . . it knew me. I know that sounds ridiculous, but little birds like these either have a photographic memory or they just make it good with memorizing faces – seeing as they only live for half a year. It didn’t stop looking at me funny, until the teacher interrupted my thoughts – something about broccoli, my cousin, and a blow dryer. Funny what goes through a boys’ mind. ‘Warning? Care to return?’ said Mr. Saunders cool, silky voice, sort of like. . . an evil guy! ‘Yes, sir,’ I mumbled, looking back at the windowsill, but the bird was gone. The rest of the day wasn’t at all fun – except, that in Maths, we got handed a notice about the ‘ball’ tonight. Call it a dance, a formal evening, whatever. I was not going to that. No way.

‘No I’m not!’ I yelled. ’You can’t just force me to do something!’ My uncle sneered at me. ‘Yeah, whatever. I take care of you, you do as I say. Get it?’ I sneered right back at him. ‘Yeah, whatever.’ ‘Disownment!’ sang Idiot-face. I punched myself again. In the head. Harder. And it really hurt. ‘Ooow.’ ‘Anyone asks, you did this to yourself. Okay?’ ‘So, you want to go to the ball.’ ‘Correct.’ ‘Why?’ ‘I’ve got. . .’ Idiot-face stopped ominously. He sneered at me again. ‘I’ve got much better things to do than boss you around. Though it’s fun.’ ‘Okay. . . define better.’ ‘Don’t you have something better to do, brain-boy?’ ‘When’s it on?’ ‘What?’ Idiot-face looked genuinely confused. I’m not surprised. It’s not as if he would actually be able to process something. ‘When is it on?’ ‘The ball.’ ‘Yes!’ ‘6:00. And you are going, right?’ My smarty uncle peered at me cautiously. I snorted quietly. ‘Well. . .’ ‘If you don’t, you’ll be doing your chores every day and your sister’s homework.’ ‘I’ll do it!’ I blurted, then rolled my eyes. //Idiot.// Why was Idiot-face doing this anyway? Heck, I don’t like even being social, more or less actually doing a dance with a female. It just wasn’t. . . natural for me. Can anyone picture me dancing? Not me. ‘Really?’ Idiot-face raised his eyebrows in suggestion. I chuckled stupidly. //Dude, you should be a comedian. I’m cracking up.// ‘Don’t laugh, kid. Remember?’ I thought back to about ten seconds ago. I had been reluctantly pulled into my uncle’s trap. He had threatened for me to have to do my chores //every// day and my sister’s homework too. Wow. ‘Yes, I remember,’ I said wearily. ‘Do I have an outfit?’ Idiot-face chuckled mirthlessly. ‘I’m sure you can find something in your wardrobe.’ ‘You mean under my bed.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘That’s beside the point, punk. Now go get something together, otherwise I’ll drop you off in your underwear.’ ‘Fine,’ I grumbled, walking past my uncle and up the stairs. Now, here’s something you should know about my room; it’s basically a box with a window, a bed, and an old wooden table. I had a few ruffled outfits under my bed, but by few I mean, three. Or two? Something like that. With a sigh, I reached my arm under my bed, flapping my hand around to feel for something. Anything. ‘Darn.’ I couldn’t find anything! Why couldn’t I find anything? Had Idiot-face purposely put out all my stuff? Was he doing this to torture me further? That’s it, I thought with sheer determination. I am going to get my father out of hospital so I can actually have a guardian who doesn’t plan on making my life //hell// all the time. I was going to win that competition. And then, straight after I had thought of it, something clicked in my brain. The way it does. //Win the competition.// When you win the competition, you get $10,000! That would be enough to pay for my Dad’s operation, and also a few thousand more to repair the storm damages done to our Chaser Van! That’s it! I got up, and then the other factors came into place. Idiot-face. Lauren. The fact that it’s another two months until tornado season. . . and the fact that the Stones are so going to win. Thing is, this competition was the thing that kept us fighting. We had won it, once; but they’d won it the other sixteen. I’m not sure what they were trying to prove. They’re superior? That’s sad. See, me and my Dad are Storm-chasers by tradition. Our brave/silly family has tried to win it for ages. When both of us set off to win it, my Dad was injured in a tornado. I had a broken arm, but other than that, was okay. But my Dad had irreparable damage to the base of his spine. A transplant cost $7,500. See why I want to win? I could get my Dad his life back. This is perfect. And that is why people think I’m stupid. Back to my silly idea. Well, I would be thinking how I could evolve the idea so it would actually work. But then again. . . Remembering something, I ran downstairs and checked the clock. Darn it, I thought. I had ten minutes until Idiot-face dropped me off. I ran upstairs again and pulled out a dusty shirt that looked like it was grey. With a smirk, I wiped it all off, smelled it, and put it on. As I didn’t have any trousers besides the plain pair I use as my uniform, I just kept my pants on. I went outside. ‘Hello, kid?’ I heard a voice call. With a groan, I ran to the top of the stairs. ‘You’re late, kiddo,’ said Idiot-face, bouncing the car keys in one hand. ‘Sure,’ I said, running downstairs. He made a //tssk// sound. ‘Just get in the car already.’ The car. My Dad’s old storm-chaser vehicle, the one I had helped him refurbish as new car parts popped into the stores. Idiot-face hadn’t bothered to replace any paint, seeing as he said ‘my job takes up too much money,’ and the fact that he was too lazy to continue the family tradition. To put it finely; my uncle. It’s kind of strange. He only worked three days a week, and even then, only three/four hours a day. He gets hardly any pay. So, I guess what he said was true. That and the fact our mortgage was a few months overdue. Our family has some problems. I got in the car, blinking a few times at the English letters on the seats. What’s more, it was in lipstick. //Lauren,// I thought. Now my cousin was dead. My Dad had a stick of the stuff left after Mum died. He never touched it, just locked it away in a drawer. Both of us were devastated. Idiot-face looked at the lipstick, and knowing that it irked me hugely, made a smoochy sound. ‘Ooh, here’s mummy. Mummy wants to kiss little baby.’ It took all of my self-control to not reach forward and knock his head against the window. Didn’t he know? Seeing as my Dad was his brother. I hate him.

Idiot-face stopped the car. I looked out the window and blinked. This was at least three blocks away from school. So why had he stopped on the corner here? ‘Get out, kid,’ he said, his eyes blazing. Seeing as I was naturally small for my age, and that he was at least seventy pounds heavier, I decided not to mess with him. ‘Get out,’ he said, getting angrier. I grabbed my schoolbag and opened the door and hopped onto the street. ‘But –’ ‘I’ve got to be somewhere, kid. Do your own thing. If Social Services finds you, you’re an orphan.’ I grinned defiantly. ‘And what if I sue you?’ He closed the door, burning some rubber as he sped off. Yep. He’s irked. I shook my head, and walked further along the street until I noticed a light coming from the top of a building. When I got closer, it was an inn. Knowing that lights usually wouldn’t be on at this time, I made for it.

I rang the bell at the counter. After a minute and nothing happening, I tapped it hard. A lot. After the eighty-seventh, an annoyed man, holding his head from sleep, wandered wearily into the room. He was about my height – and when you’re as tall as me, you’re small. ‘What do you want, kid?’ he grumbled. ‘There’s someone on the top floor who, I believe, wants to see me.’ I sounded professional. A personal first. The man thought. ‘Okay. There’s an old guy upstairs, said a kid would come in, ‘bout my height, slim, brown hair. You Josh Warning?’ I bit my lip as he said my first name. Ever since I had been in a terrorist attack, and the guy with my name, I’ve resented being called that. What’s worse, he looked straight into my eyes. There was madness there. Pure and utter madness. ‘Yes,’ I said. He yawned, and closed the door behind him. ‘Come here, kid. Top floor.’ He unlocked a door, which lead to a stairwell. The man shivered with cold, and went back down again. ‘Be quick, kid!’ I didn’t care about being quick. I just wanted to see someone that understood what I was feeling. I rapped once on the wooden door. Then twice. And then I started the knock-rhythm grandpa had taught me. An old man opened the door. He was quite a bit taller than me. But still, compared with others, he was small. ‘Hey, Grandpa,’ I said. He smiled crookedly at me. ‘Hey, Joshua! Come on in, buddy. I got some tea waiting.’ Despite hating being called by my first name, I smiled back at him and stepped into his little apartment. It was about the size of my room, and despite having no heating/cooling system, there were blankets all around the place. Oh, and books. Lots of books. Lots and lots of books. Books were everywhere. He had maybe fifteen bookcases, and though this little room was the size of mine he had a lot of stuff. //I’m impressed, Grandpa,// I thought. I had been here a few times, whenever I could seize the chance. My grandfather had been a storm-chaser too. I have a feeling that I should explain why I dislike my first name. When I was about four, there was a terrorist incident at the bank. Two guys had run in, guns waving, and very nearly shot me. One was tall, with shining curly hair. The other was quite short, maybe my Dad’s height. But what really scared me is the fact that the tall one’s name was Josh. It was worse by the fact that he had actually nearly ran into me. I had a good long look at his face. I could plainly see everything there. The madness. You could see it just by looking at his face. The guy was mad. And that’s what scares me. Grandpa passed me my tea. ‘Here you go, kid.’ I thanked him loudly (he was starting to deafen) and sat down. It was strong, not what he usually made. I smacked my lips, hoping he thought I liked it. ‘So, Josh. What’s going, as you say. What’s up?’ My mouth quirked. At least, I think it did. ‘I’m meant to be going to a prom. So I stopped by here.’ He nodded. ‘Okay. So, what do you want to talk about?’ I sighed. ‘The Stones.’ Grandpa blinked suddenly behind his glasses; like he was shocked I was bringing it up. He sighed, and sat down, having jumped up. He sighed again, and shoved his glasses further up his wrinkled nose. ‘Well, the Warnings and the Stones have been rivals as long as we’ve been sure of it. ‘They beat us at everything. How many degrees their kids got in college, to science fairs, everything. As soon as the contest started, the public went nuts. The Stones decided to give us an ultimatum; you win, we give you ten acres of estate, or we win, and you have to give us your knowledge.’ He yawned, and checked his watch. ‘Which was the splitting of the atom.’ I cleared my throat. ‘They helped make the atomic bomb?’ Grandpa nodded. ‘Fifty straight years. They beat us every time.’ Thinking about my crazy idea, I looked at his calendar on the wall. One square was filled in blank for next month. Grandpa just ripped out all the pages and stuck them on the wall. Well, it seems to work. ‘And. . . when is it?’ ‘April 30th.’ I looked again at the calendar. The contest was going in two months. Exactly. ‘Have we entered it every time?’ Grandpa sniffled. ‘Why are you asking me this? It’s not like we will win.’ My mouth quirked again. ‘Well, I plan on breaking that,’ I mumbled. ‘Heh?’ he asked. I think his hearing is getting worse. I screwed my eyes up. Grandpa could help me. But then again, what saying had my Dad drilled into my brain? //Trust no one.// It seemed to work. I couldn’t take it anymore. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’m going to go up to Nebraska and beat the Stones, alright?’ Grandpa raised a grey eyebrow. ‘You think you can do that? They’ve beaten us every year for half a century.’ He sighed, and rubbed the skin on his forehead. ‘Fifty-first in two months.’ I shook my head. ‘Come on! We can do this! They beat us for fifty years, fine. But I am going To Nebraska and winning it myself, if no one else will.’ It was such a nice moment, for a second I heard fireworks. Grandpa sighed. ‘I suppose you could, but. . .’ My ears perked up. ‘Yeah?’ He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a fifty-dollar note. ‘Take this.’ Grandpa smiled weakly. ‘Now go out there and kick their butt for me. And your Dad.’ As I left, and the little man locked the door leading to the stairs, I thought about how I might do this. Except I have some money, I thought, as I put the note into my pocket.

okay, what'd you think of it? whoever wants to think i should become a thriller writer or something when i grow up, i'm not surprised. it'd be about the 20th time someone's said that.

hey, mehrbano, are you gonna post up the rest of witch of silver mountains? cause its good and i want to read more.