Nostradormouse
5/5
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About this ebook
A dormouse awakens & utters a mysterious prophecy. In the centre of The Great Woods, an ancient tree receives some strange visitors. Rumours abound. Change is in the air. This is the age... of Nostradormouse.
Chris Tinniswood
Writer. Artist. Designer. Musician. Just not at the same time.
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Reviews for Nostradormouse
2 ratings1 review
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The reason why I picked up this book was the cover. Isn't it adorable? Looking at the cover, you'll immediately know that this is a kids book, but in spite the fact I still picked it up.Nostradormouse is a great book. Brilliant and simply mystifying. It was greatly written, a must pick book if you want to teach as well as entertain your young ones. :) A fast read, the book is just about 104 pages, it tells you a great tale about a young mouse spreading wisdom across the forest. A definite must read book.
Book preview
Nostradormouse - Chris Tinniswood
Nostradormouse
Chris Tinniswood
Smashwords Edition
First published in 2009 by Histrionic Downs
Text and illustrations copyright (c) Chris Tinniswood 2009
The moral right of Chris Tinniswood to be identified as the author of this work
has been asserted by him in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons (or animals!),
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
http://www.histrionicdowns.com
ISBN: 978-0-9561611-0-9
Designed by Chris Tinniswood
Portrait of Author by Sally Tennant
Prologue
The hooded mouse treads a solitary path;
The pack-mind catches the scent of prey.
The largest shall bow to the smallest's will,
And the youngest will identify the prophet.
Wrapping his hooded cloak tightly about him, the dormouse pressed on through the darkened forest. The wind was blowing hard against him, but his will was fierce and so, undaunted, he continued his way towards the centre of The Great Woods.
The moon appeared briefly through a gap in the trees. It should have been a welcome relief for him, but instead it brought fear; for although it lit his way, it also revealed shapes in the bushes; shapes which he had glimpsed before. They barely made a sound, even when the wind was not howling through the branches and whispering nightmares into his ears. They were his constant companions these past few hours; if they were friends, why did they not reveal themselves? If they were enemies, why did they not strike?
The dormouse paused for breath against the roots of a silver birch. Its bark was smooth to the touch, and he could smell
the earth beneath his feet. It gave him some small comfort, which he craved. He sighed heavily, and sat down to rest, grateful for the shelter against the wind. He had come a long way these past few moons, but he knew that he still had far to go. He wished that he was safely back at home with his parents, but knew that it could never be. If only he hadn't eaten that nut. But he had, and that one meal had changed his life forever.
A shriek pierced the night, and the dormouse sprang up onto the root, his head darting back and forth, his whiskers twitching as he strained his ears to detect the source of the sound.
There it was again! He paused, suddenly aware that whatever danger was out there, he was just one solitary mouse. What could he do? His instinct told him to run and hide, and yet he felt a compelling urge to help. He knew he could make a difference. And so, despite the fear he felt and the knots in his stomach, he sprang off the root and ran towards the source of the shrieks. He was someone's only hope.
Just ahead of the dormouse was a small clearing. The trees cast long shadows across it, and leaves whispered in the wind like soft applause. In the centre of the clearing was a family of rabbits. They huddled close together; not against the cold, but in fear of their lives. Surrounding them, and closing in,
were a pack of hungry wolves. Their mouths slavered with the anticipation of the meal to come. Again, the rabbits shrieked, and the wolves snarled viciously in reply.
The dormouse did not hesitate; if he had, things may well have turned out very differently. He ran straight under the wolves and skidded to a halt in front of the rabbits. Gasping for breath, he smiled timidly at the astonished animals, and then turned slowly to face the common enemy.
The wolves stopped; their hackles rose, and the tone of their snarls changed. The leader of the pack sniffed the air; he detected the smell of fear, and the dirt, and the rabbits. These smells he welcomed, but the smell of this rodent was something he couldn't quite grasp. It was not that of just any mouse; it was a smell he'd been tracking for