Circle of Dreams: Prequel - The Herbmaster by McNabb Linda

Author:McNabb, Linda [McNabb, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Southern Star Publishing
Published: 2014-12-28T16:00:00+00:00

This was a brief look into Zaine’s world. I hope you will join me where his story continues in Runeweaver: Circle of Dreams (Book 1)

Sneak preview of Chapter One… Circle of Dreams: Runeweaver

THE CALL OF THE BOOK

“Zaine! You up yet?” A high, shrill voice pierced Zaine’s dreams and he opened one eye reluctantly.

He pushed a sharp piece of straw out of his face and rolled over with a sigh. The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky, and from the window at the far end of the barn he could see that daylight was only a matter of minutes away. He started to snuggle back into the straw – just a few more minutes wouldn’t make any difference – then he remembered what day it was.

Sitting bolt upright and grinning broadly, Zaine ran through the chores he would have to do before he could leave the farm for the day. He only had two days off every cycle of the moon, and today was one of them.

“I’ll be right there, Aunt Tilly,” Zaine called out, as he hurried over to the rope that hung from the open end of the hayloft where he slept.

He slid down the rope easily. Many years of practice meant he did not miss the ladder that Aunt Tilly’s son broke on purpose a few months ago. He knew from an early age that something wasn’t normal about his family. No other families made the smallest boy sleep in the hayloft from when he was only a few years old.

Other children got hugs and gifts on their birthdays, but all Zaine ever got were sneers and extra chores. Older boys weren’t allowed to pick on their younger siblings in other homes, but at the Taitem farm bullying went unnoticed.

The hayloft had seemed a long way up, and scary, when he was just five, but almost eight years later he wouldn’t sleep anywhere else. He dropped silently to the ground and was running almost before his feet touched the warm, hard-packed earth. There was a light coming from the small kitchen window and he could see the tall figure of his aunt walking back and forth. He stopped at the well, drew a full bucket of water and skillfully carried it to the farmhouse without spilling a drop.

“You took your time,” Aunt Tilly snapped, as she grabbed the bucket and poured the water into the waiting pot over the simmering fire.

“Morning, Aunt Tilly.” Zaine greeted her with a grin, ignoring her scowl.

Two people could not have looked more different, and anyone could see in an instant that they were not aunt and nephew.

Aunt Tilly, a tall, thin woman, was dark-skinned. A black so deep that it was difficult to see where her skin stopped and her tough, wiry black hair began.

Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun at the base of her neck and small metal-rimmed glasses perched halfway up her long, slim nose.

Zaine, however, was pale-skinned, almost the colour of the wheat that blew gently in the fields that he tended.

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