After a moment, Joel kicked aside the boxes and scuttled out from under the table.
“HEY!” Frankie grabbed at an ankle and missed. “What do you think you are doing? Never heard of the “pretend we’ve all gone and wait till they come out of their hiding place” trick?” But, when nobody appeared through the Mirror Door to snatch her little brother, she reluctantly decided it might be safe and crawled out herself.
“Granddad’s been kidnapped by orcs!” said Joel dramatically, raising his eyebrows.
“He has not!” Frankie’s brain was simply refusing to process all of this.
Crouched in perfect stillness beneath a toadstool, Tobin sniffed the air. Wet, with a faint metallic odor.
A storm was coming, a big one. Lightning for sure. Not a good day for a mouse to venture too far from the Great Burrow. Tobin lifted his nose to the breeze again, performing the junior weather scout procedures dutifully: Sniff the air. Search the air. Feel the air.
He didn’t even need all three steps today. The odor of rain was obvious, the clouds sat heaped in the sky like a row of giant bears, and as for feeling the air – his tan-and-black speckled fur was already clumped together from the humidity. For the third time that afternoon, Tobin rubbed his cheeks, fluffing out his fur and whiskers. After all, whiskers used properly are a fine-tuned sensory tool. Drooping whiskers can’t do their job.
This time I selected two pages (90 and 91) so that the teaser makes sense!
There is a stunned silence as Aunty Bindi gets to her feet, soaked from head to toe, with the brown gooey mehndi dripping off her. Belle the dog trots over, takes one sniff and runs away yelping. I put my head in my hands and wonder for the millionth time why my family can’t just be normal.