Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters Read Online Free PDF Page B

dogwood, already a fiery crimson and becoming patchy as
they lost their leaves to autumn. Most of the trees surrounding the
property were afire with burnished leaves, a few completely naked,
their straggly branches clawing at the sky. But there were pockets
of evergreen, an overbearing and domineering assembly of holm oak
with enormous twisted trunks and gnarled roots jutting from the
ground, looking as if they were about to wrench themselves from the
earth and stride toward them.
    The
Wilds.
    It was unnervingly quiet. There was barely the sound of bird call.
An uneasiness prickled down her spine. Nettle felt watched. Not as
if she was being intently studied, it felt more like, the forest
itself was slowly awaking to their presence.
    Finally, with a relieved sigh, Nettle watched the soft dark earth
being pushed aside, as the worm she’d enticed dug its way up from
beneath and wriggled out from the ground.
    “That’s
a fat, juicy one for Willoughby,” grinned Bram, plucking it between
pinched fingers. The earthworm twisted and coiled up over itself as
he lowered it into the jar, along with the others they’d collected
that morning.
    “That’s
enough,” said Nettle rising. “Let’s get to Bessie, and have some
breakfast ourselves. I’m starving, and I’m over being cold and
wet.”
    Upon entering Bessie, they discovered Willoughby’s cage was
gone. “Dad,” was all Nettle said with a shrug of her shoulders. It
wasn’t unusual for their father to move his cage into a sunny
position outside. Not that today’s overly warm for sun-basking, she
thought.
    Bram plonked the jar of wriggling worms onto the wooden counter
beside the stove. “Mmmm porridge…” he said with a hopeful glance at
Nettle.
    “Go on,”
his sister replied with a wry smile. “I’ll make breakfast, then
we’ll look for Willoughby. But first, I need to change.”
    Tucked into the rear of the motor-home was the bedroom she
normally shared with Bram. However, while Jazz was vacationing with
them, Nettle had been forced to share their bedroom with her cousin, who was
a notorious snorer and had no notion of how to keep quarters tidy.
Bram slept on the couch and their father in his poky bedroom above
the cab.
    Nettle
changed into a pair of fresh leggings. As she dressed, her thoughts
found their way back to last night’s inspiration: how to convince
their father to stay permanently at Blackthorn Cottage. It wasn’t
easy being back here surrounded by memories of Briar, but Bram was
right, they should settle down, stop the travelling, and stay put.
Now that Olde Town was seemingly re-established, Nettle was sure
there would be families living and working in the village, and a
school they could attend. Bram needed friends his own age, as too,
did she.
    The idea of meeting a group of friends and keeping them was
thrilling, and a glorious daydream she indulged in when her spirits
were low. It wasn’t as if Nettle and Bram never met kids their own
age as they travelled. The problem was keeping in touch. Creating
history and cementing deeper friendships was hard to do if one
couldn’t even give out their forwarding address. And their father
forbade it. However her father did allow contact, as long as
neither of them mentioned where they were or where they were
going. Ugh,
he’s so over-protective, stupidly so, Nettle thought. Most of the time they
didn’t even know where they were headed next, it was simply on
whim.
    Nettle was able to tr ade emails with the friends she’d gathered along
their travels. But in most cases, after time, most of her friends
emails would simply fall few and far between, until they finally
ceased contact.
    There were a couple of photographs on the walls: the tousle-headed
Bella and her younger brother Benny, whom they met a few years ago
at a camping ground near a lake, where the four of them had gone
trout-fishing almost every day; Cameron, Izzy and their tubby
cousin Ron, arms wrapped around one another, laughing, as