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Marmwood Book 8: Tales of Tossledowns
Marmwood Book 8: Tales of Tossledowns
Marmwood Book 8: Tales of Tossledowns
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Marmwood Book 8: Tales of Tossledowns

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There’s place amongst the old hardwood trees of Marwood so well hidden that one can only imagine where it might be. Those who know visit the trees because the secluded spot makes them feel good. They’re convinced the old trees grow just for them, which is why they do their best to keep the location a secret.
But something sinister followed them into the forest to discover the secret and now the trees are dying.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 2, 2011
ISBN9781452472973
Marmwood Book 8: Tales of Tossledowns
Author

Laurence Knighton

Born in the Rocky Mountains under a loaf of wry bread, Laurence (Larsky) Knighton is a graphic designer and illustrator by trade, having written and illustrated Disney's 'Donald Duck' syndicated daily comic strip for years before its cancelation in the American market. Still illustrating and writing fun, entertaining stories, he resides in Boise, Idaho with his handsome plush-stuffed black Lab 'Buck' who never sheds, barks, or runs away.

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    Book preview

    Marmwood Book 8 - Laurence Knighton

    Tales of Tossledowns – Book 8

    MARMWOOD

    by

    Laurence Knighton

    Smashwords Edition

    *

    PUBLISHED BY:

    Laurence Knighton on Smashwords

    Marmwood – Book 8 - Tales of Tossledowns

    Copyright © 2011 by Laurence Knighton

    Smashwords Edition License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

    *

    Prologue

    Beneath the sagging floorboards of an old abandoned house atop Karnberry Hill, a scruffy filtherrat held its rodent nose close to the ground and sought the scent of what might lead to a reasonable meal. Why it assumed there was anything in the narrow crawlspace for a rat to eat was a mystery, but there it was, conducting a thorough search as if hunting for clues that hadn’t been noticed yet.

    Over its head near the sagging floorboards, a yellow spinspider noticed the furry vermin the very moment it slipped through the wide crack in the old house’s crumbling foundation.

    The rat was much larger than her, but that didn’t matter. Spiders aren’t overly particular as long as it makes the mistake of stumbling into one of her snares. If it were happen she’d gladly take time to do a goodly wrapping. My, my, just imagine how many meals would come of such an enormous catch!

    The filtherrat gave every inch of the crawlspace a good look before thinking to leave. Before it did, the visitor looked up and noticed the spider, watching with its many spider eyes.

    She said nothing. Neither did the filtherrat. But a large beetle that hung from a wad of webbing nearby did. A rare tomebeetle, he was partially wrapped and securely attached to the sticky snare. His beetle eyes were wild with fear.

    Help! Help! I’m being held against my will!

    Either the rat didn’t hear or it just didn’t care. It sniffed once at the silky web that stretched from the dirt floor all the way up to the floor joists where the beetle and the spinspider perched. Then, it turned to leave. Before it disappeared, the rodent glanced over its shoulder in case it had missed something, and then it was gone.

    Why did you do that? the spinspider asked with a flush of anger when the filtherrat had left. She tugged hard at a strand of silk that secured the beetle to the web and the vibrations nearly jostled loose the large book he held in his hands.

    It was an impulse, the tomebeetle admitted and lifted the book in front of his face as if to hide. He half expected her temper to unleash like it had a number of times since he was first captured. To his relief, by the tired look in her many spider eyes it was obvious how she wasn’t feeling up to the task.

    Angry or not, the spinspider was feeling poorly and dismissed the beetle’s excuse. She could have done something about his outburst, and probably should have, but the effort would have made her head hurt and she did nothing. There was always time later.

    Yet, she was a spider and they tend to be a bit mean.

    I tell you what, she said with a deliberately cruel drawl, I have an impulse to do a bit of wrapping that’s been pushed aside for other things.

    The beetle swallowed a lump

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