Beyond the Deepwoods (The Edge Chronicles, Book 1; The Twig Trilogy, Book 1)

Beyond the Deepwoods (The Edge Chronicles, Book 1; The Twig Trilogy, Book 1)

Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell

Language: English

Pages: 120

ISBN: B0027PA32G

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Original publication: 1998 in Great Britain with Doubleday

When thirteen-year-old Twig discovers that he was abandoned at birth by an unknown outsider, he leaves his woodtroll family behind and sets off on a journey through and beyond the dangerous Deepwoods. As he makes his way through a nightmarish world of goblins and trogs, bloodthirsty beasts and flesh-eating trees, only two things keep Twig going: the mystery of his identity and the promise of a heroic destiny. . . .

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them. ‘Twig!’ barked Mag sternly, as he ran for a closer look. White, yellow, mushroom-brown; at least half of the long thick roots were giving out a softly pulsing glow. Twig placed his hand against one. It was warm, and throbbed faintly. ‘TWIG!’ Mag screeched. ‘HEEL!’ Twig looked round. Mag was glaring menacingly. Obedient and dumb, Twig remembered. He trotted over and stood by her side. Mag patted him on the head. ‘Interested in the roots, are you?’ she said. ‘They provide us with all we

form a clearing around a deep lake of dark water. Those roots which remained fanned out near the ground, domed and serpentine. In amongst them, was a collection of huge capsules, each one separate from, but connected to, its neighbour. Rounded, buff-coloured and with small dark circular entrances, the capsules formed a mound up to five storeys high in places. ‘The trogcombs are where we live,’ said Mag. ‘Follow me.’ Twig smiled to himself. Mag hadn't grabbed him by the hair. She was beginning

so nearly taken his own life. He stroked his hammelhornskin waistcoat gratefully. ‘It's that pinky root we saw on our way here, Twig,’ she went on as she threaded beads onto the finished braid. ‘Do you remember? The one I told you never to eat. It's poisonous for males, you see? Deadly poisonous,’ she said in a hushed whisper. ‘Though not for us females,’ she added. Twig heard her chuckle as she separated a second bunch of hair. ‘It's the rootsap that makes Mumsie and all the others so big and

‘I swear I have never seen the like in all my born days,’ he said. ‘Friends with a banderbear! Whatever next?’ He shook his head. ‘Come on, young'un,’ he said. ‘Help me over here.’ Tem was standing by the fire. Having expertly skinned the hammelhorn, he had skewered it on a length of ironwood and placed it above the flames. The air was now thick with the smell of roasting meat. Twig joined him, and the pair of them turned the spit round and round, round and round. By the time that Stope Boltjaw

creature continued to writhe. The hissing sound was coming not from its mouth, but from rows of ducts along its underbelly. These expelled the air which kept the worm hovering aloft. It moved nearer, and Twig found himself staring at the creature's mouth. It had rubbery lips and floppy feelers, and gulped constantly at the air. Suddenly the lips parted. Twig gasped. The hover worm's mouth was full of tentacles, each one with a dripping sucker at the end. As the jaws widened, the tentacles

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