The Secret of the Ginger Mice by Song of the Winns

thin, he took it over to the bamboo. It was slow hot work, hacking and sawing at the tough, fibrous trunks, and more than once as he felt the woolen scarf prickling at his throat he wished his mother had made him a memento that was a little cooler against his fur. Sunglasses, for example.
    He had managed to cut four lengths when he heard Tibby Rose calling to him in a low voice.
    â€œAlistair, over here.”
    She was on the other side of the clearing, and when Alistair reached her, he found that she had been collecting strands from a thick vine that was draped over a fallen log. This wasn’t what she had called him for, though. “Look,” she said. “Blackberries.”
    Alistair had been too preoccupied to notice his hunger, but when he saw the blackberry bushes he was almost overcome by the gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Brilliant!”
    They ate their fill of the tart, juicy berries, then gotback to work. The sun was getting lower in the sky by the time they had a dozen sticks of bamboo, stripped of leaves, ready to fasten with the vines Tibby Rose had gathered. They laid the trunks together on the ground, and Tibby showed Alistair how to loop the vines around and between each stick to hold it firm against its neighbors. When they had fastened the bamboo at four even intervals, they each picked up an end of the raft and carried it to the water’s edge.
    â€œWait a minute,” said Tibby Rose as they lowered it into the shallows. “We’ll need something to steer with.”
    She darted back to the bamboo grove and, picking up the stone Alistair had discarded, selected a long piece and began to saw at it. “Steering pole,” she said breathlessly when she returned.
    Tibby stepped carefully onto the raft, which wobbled a bit, but held her weight. Then Alistair pushed off, wading knee-deep into the river, and climbed aboard.
    â€œWe did it!” Tibby cried delightedly as they bobbed lightly on the current. She held the raft steady with the pole planted in the sandy bottom. “Now what, Captain?”
    Alistair unwound his scarf and splashed water on his prickly neck as he considered her question.
    â€œIt’ll be dark soon,” he said. “I reckon we pull the raft up onto the bank and try to get some sleep, then head off at first light. What do you think?”
    â€œAye, aye,” said Tibby. “Blackberries for dinner, I assume?”
    The prospect wasn’t as appealing as it would have been a few hours earlier, but Alistair nodded. “And let’s collect some for the journey,” he said.
    They settled back beside the reeds some minutes later, the raft pulled up on the bank beside them, a neat pile of blackberries in one corner. As he waited for sleep to come, Alistair watched a dozen swallows swooping, silhouetted against the sky in the fading light. He was feeling nervous but optimistic. Tomorrow he would be on his way home.

7

Mount Sharpnest
    A lex and Alice set off early, carrying the remainder of the meal given to them by their reluctant host. “Remind me again how much farmers’ wives like orphans,” said Alice, stretching to get the knots out of her arms from the fruit-picking and out of her back from the uncomfortable night on the floor of the barn with a sack of grain for a pillow.
    â€œShe wasn’t a farmer’s wife, though,” Alex pointed out. “She was a farmer. I never said farmers like orphans, did I?”
    After walking for a couple of hours they stopped for arest by the side of the road, and each had a piece of bread, but at Alice’s insistence made sure to be sparing with it in case they hadn’t found more food by dinnertime.
    The road ahead of them snaked off to the east, while a narrow dirt path headed due north.
    â€œThat must be the shortcut over Mount Sharpnest,” said Alice, pointing.
    â€œGreat, let’s go that way,” said her brother promptly.
    Alice