The Wolf from the Ridge

By Suzanna Stanbury

Cover Art by Liz Ascott

On a ridge far above the small Canadian town of Puckered Ridge lives a family of wolves. Rutter, the biggest of the cubs, kicks his little brother Wilkie over the edge of the mountain.

Wilkie lands in a snowy field at the edge of town, where he meets two garbage-loving bears. After Big Ned scares the bears away from his restaurant, the little wolf flees, finally ending up in the bedroom of ten-year-old Josh Bright.

Josh and Wilkie become inseparable. But Wilkie is growing larger by the day and Josh struggles to hide him from his mother. Soon Josh’s secret is out in the open and that’s where the adventures begin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanna Stanbury
• Release date: Feb 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311634238

Suzanna Stanbury

Suzanna Stanbury lives in Bristol, England. She publishes as Snub Try Publishing. Suzanna writes children's books, novels and short stories. She performs regularly at spoken word events, performing at schools and libraries encouraging children to love books. She is administrator and an active member of The Bristol Fiction Writers' Group. Website: http://snubtry.weebly.com/ Twitter: @suzannastanbury Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/SuzannaStanbury The illustrations for Suzanna Stanbury books are created by Liz Ascott.

Book preview

THE WOLF FROM THE RIDGE

by

Suzanna Stanbury

SMASHWORDS EDITION

*****

PUBLISHED BY

Suzanna Stanbury on Smashwords

The Wolf from the Ridge

Copyright © 2009 Suzanna Stanbury

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. Please do not download or reproduce for the purposes of resale, or represent any of the work in an inappropriate or inaccurate manner. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form.

Copyright © 2009 Suzanna Stanbury

Cover art by Liz Ascott © 2013

Chapter One

Wilkie

The howl of a wolf cut through the evening air, echoing through the snowy passes, drifting down to the small town of Puckered Ridge; across the fields the howl travelled, slipping in through a gap in the window-frame of ten-year-old Josh Bright.

Mom, yelled Josh. I can hear a wolf howling.

So can I, Josh. His mother opened his bedroom door. I expect it’s out hunting for its supper – now get back into bed and go to sleep, its getting late.

But, Mom, said Josh, reluctantly climbing down from the window ledge. The moon’s full over the ridge and I might be able to see the wolf and I…

Josh. His mother waved a warning finger at him. You’ve got a test in the morning; for goodness sake forget the wolves and go to sleep.

***

As dawn broke across the highest ridge, a mother wolf crept exhausted into a cave where she was greeted by her four sons all eager for food. As soon as they’d eaten, the cubs wanted to play. They jumped on their mother’s head, bounded off her back, nibbling the end of her tail.

Oh, go and play outside, she said, swatting a cub as he landed on her back yet again. The little wolves didn’t hesitate. Scampering out of the cave as fast as their paws would go, creating much tumbling and crashing as they raced through the snow. Up the cubs climbed, over rocks and ice, higher and higher until they reached the ridge itself.

The smooth patch of snow they found was perfect, its surface unbroken, just waiting for sixteen paws to pound through it, playing a boisterous game of bash, thump, jump! Over and over they tumbled, little paws thrashing, small snouts snapping, claws and jaws, teeth and fur, rolling faster and faster in the snow.

The runt of the litter, Wilkie, hung back from the rest of the pack watching his brothers play. His grey pointed ears were straining forward, his tail quivering with excitement, its white tip waving eagerly as he waited for his chance to join in the fun. The ball of tussling cubs rolled past Wilkie yet again. Giving a loud bark, he leapt into the center of the action, only to come flying out again.

Rutter, first-born and largest of the litter had a wide black stripe running right down the middle of his twisted snout and his hooded yellow eyes gave him a sly look – nature’s warning of his nasty ways.

Poor Wilkie had landed upside down in a snow-bank.

Pathetic, snarled Rutter, watching as Wilkie wriggled back to his feet. The two other cubs crashed into Rutter and the three of them began thrashing, yowling and snarling at one another.

Wilkie crept closer, watching transfixed as the ball of fighting wolf cubs tumbled by him. Unable to resist, he scampered after them, squeaking excitedly, tripping over his own fluffy paws.

Griff, second-born of the brothers, slightly cross-eyed and bow-legged, aimed his paw at Flay, the third-born pup, missing him completely. Caught off-balance, Griff fell heavily on Flay’s head, knocking his brother flat in the snow. Rutter took his chance and swiping out viciously, he caught both of them with one mighty blow. Griff and Flay lay whimpering in the snow. Rutter watched them, spite gleaming in his eyes; he gave a sharp bark of triumph.

Not fair, Rutter, grumbled Flay, rushing at him. Griff followed suit and soon the three were scrapping wildly again, chasing each other between the rocks.

Running very fast, Wilkie jumped as high as he could manage, hoping to land at the heart of the fight. But Rutter had seen Wilkie leap, and tensing his back legs, he kicked out hard, catching poor Wilkie full-force in the chest, pitching him high into the air. Wilkie sailed upwards, dropping like a stone right over the edge of the ridge.

Griff and Flay stopped fighting at once. After standing still for a moment in surprise, they rushed to the spot where Wilkie had dropped, their heads knocking together as they tried to peer down the mountainside. Griff and Flay stared at each rock and patch of snow in turn, looking for Wilkie – but there was no sign of their little brother to be seen anywhere.

Poking their faces skywards, Griff and Flay howled with misery. Rutter stood by smirking. Taking his chance, he pushed against them, trying to topple them over the edge, to send them hurtling down after Wilkie. Just in time, Griff dodged, sticking out his paw, he saved Flay and they tumbled harmlessly backwards into the snow.

Next time, snarled Rutter, sauntering away.

***

Whizzing fast through the icy air, Wilkie rolled his body up into a tight furry ball. Bracing himself against the impact of landing, he barely felt a bump when he plopped into a fresh fall of soft snow. Before he could uncurl his body, Wilkie began to roll down the slope. Faster and faster he went, his fur picking up soft icy powder until he looked like an over-sugared donut. Instinctively, Wilkie sucked in a deep breath to combat spinning through the snow. Soon, he was completely covered, immersed within a frozen ball, stuck tightly, nose to tail in a snowball that grew ever larger with each turn.

Around Wilkie’s snout there was just a small air pocket allowing him to breathe. Each time the snowball bounced, Wilkie felt the impact, the bigger and heavier the ball grew, the less it hurt. The motion continued for a while until, with one final bump the snowball rolled to a slow halt in a field at the foot of the mountain.

Trapped upside-down in his frozen prison, Wilkie frantically tried to scrabble with his claws but they were held fast by the thick snow and his limbs just twitched to no effect. High above, the sun was shining brightly and soon the snowball began to melt. Stuck within the white sphere, Wilkie sensed the ball loosening; cracking sounds startled him as the ice shifted, releasing the pressure around him.

Wriggling madly until he felt the densely-packed ice begin to break, Wilkie began scraping with his claws. The snowball was falling away! The thrill of escape ran through him and Wilkie began to scrabble very fast. Scratch, scratch, scrape, scrape.

On the other side of the snowball two black bears were shambling across the field when all four of Wilkie’s paws suddenly stuck out into the morning air.

That snowball’s got legs, Fubb. One of the bears stopped and gave the snowball a hefty prod with his paw. I never saw a snowball with legs before.

Shut up, said Fubb, walking on. Sometimes I really think you’ve got Grizzly brains, Tuft…

But Fubb, Fubb, look! shouted Tuft.

"Oh, for the love of … Oh, it really has got legs!"

I told you as much, said Tuft. What do you think it is, Fubb? Some kind of snow monster? Tuft gave the snowball a slap, a few sections of fast-melting ice fell away, enough to roll the ball over. As soon as he felt his paws touch the ground, Wilkie stood up.

Hey! shrieked Tuft. Hey, Fubb, there’s someone in there. Look the snowball’s moving… It’s walking… Oh, no, it’s collapsed!

The weight from the snowball was too much for the little wolf to bear and his legs splayed out under him. Inside the ball, Wilkie whimpered and the two bears began knocking snow away with their paws until enough of the little wolf was released for him to wriggle out.

What do you think it is, Fubb? asked Tuft. It’s wet and furry, I can see that much.

Wilkie gave himself a shake and a hail of white flakes flew at the bears. Flicking snow out of their eyes, they stared fascinated as the soggy little creature emerged. Feeling very relieved to be out of his chilly cage, Wilkie let out a howl.

It’s a wolf-let! said Tuft, stroking Wilkie’s back with his paw. A teeny-tiny wet one.

"It’s a wolf cub, corrected Fubb. Not a wolf-let."

I think he looks more of a wolf-let, said Tuft. Poor little thing looks real scraggy. Where did you come from, Wolf-let?

Up there! said Wilkie, pointing to the ridge with a damp paw.

What’s your name, little feller? asked Fubb.

Wilkie, said Wilkie, launching into a sneezing fit, sending ice-particles all over Fubb.

I’m Fubb, said Fubb, shaking himself. And this is Tuft. How did you get to be a snowball, young Wilkie?

My brothers and I were playing, said Wilkie, snorting more ice out of his nose. My brother, Rutter – he’s the eldest and the biggest – he kicked me over the ridge. Wilkie stood up; blinking ice from his eyelashes he stuck his snout in the air and gave another howl. It was ever such a long way down, he said, I rolled over and over in the snow until I landed here. After, sniffing hard, Wilkie had another wet shake.

That’s a long way to fall, said Tuft. Seizing Wilkie, he flipped the soggy cub up and rubbed him on his broad black rump. There, said Tuft, that’s fluffed you up a bit. I sure wouldn’t want to fall down the ridge – I’d make a mighty big snowball if I did.

You’d make a huge snowball, laughed Fubb, rescuing a dizzy Wilkie and dropping him to the ground. If you could get up there in the first place, that is.

I could get up there all right, said Tuft. I’m good at climbing; I can get up a tree in a trice.

In your dreams, said Fubb.

Excuse me, said Wilkie, looking up at Fubb. Where am I?

Edge of town, said Fubb. It’s just over there… See?

What’s a town? Wilkie turned round a few times in confusion.

Place where humans live… said Fubb. You’re gonna ask me what humans are next, aren’t you? The bear laughed. They’re uprights, are humans.

They have nice food, chimed in Tuft, licking his lips. We get most of our chow from what they throw out, don’t we, Fubb?

Sure do, said Fubb. Now listen here, Wilkie… You have to be careful of humans. Some are good and some are rotten, but you can always tell by the smell.

Like meat! said Tuft, some of that smells rotten too… I still eat it though. Tuft promptly stuck his head into the pile of snow and began rooting about under the surface.

Anyway… continued Fubb, "if you want to survive in town you need to get smart like me and Tuft here… Although maybe not like Tuft."

Tuft lay wriggling on his back, spitting snow out in great spurts. Thought I could smell rabbits, he spluttered. I’m hungry, Fubb. Can we go to Big Ned’s now?

Good idea, said Fubb. After all it is coming up to breakfast time and we can’t stand around here talking all day. Are you hungry, Wilkie?

What’s Big Ned’s? asked Wilkie. Is that the town?

No, Fubb laughed. It’s a restaurant.

What’s that? asked Wilkie, wide-eyed with wonderment.

It’s a place with lots of food, replied Tuft. Big Ned always has loads of chow out back.

Come on, Wilkie, follow me. Fubb began shuffling across the field, followed by Tuft. The little wolf rushed after them, tripping over his feet as he ran.

Whoa, there, said Tuft, holding out a paw to stop Wilkie from running onto the highway. The bears both stopped. Keep your eyes open, Wolf-let, warned Tuft. This here’s a road and roads mean death.

What’s death? asked Wilkie.

Death means no more you, said Fubb.

Wilkie gulped. Why?

Right then an enormous truck rounded the bend. Squeaking with fear, the little wolf backed into Fubb’s leg. The truck’s mighty tires whistled over the road-surface, close enough to stir up a strong wind and ruffle the three animals’ fur.

When the truck had roared off along the highway, Fubb tapped the surface with a claw. When you see this road stuff, he said, You want to listen out as hard as you can, look all around before you head for the other side or else…

Else what? Wilkie’s eyes were bright with fear.

Bam! Tuft brought his paw down on the icy grass with so much force Wilkie bounced into the air. You’ll be squashed flat. So watch it, Wolf-let!

All’s clear, said Fubb. Trotting over the highway, he waved a paw at them to follow him.

Wilkie zoomed by so fast he overtook the bears, his little legs a blur of movement. Wow! said Tuft and he began to lumber after him.

That’s right! said Fubb. Keep to that speed and you should be okay.

The bears stopped in front of a long, low building with a red and white sign that read: ‘Big Ned’s Snackarama’. Tuft stood up on his hind legs, sticking his snout into a trash can he made it clatter over onto its side. Tuft began flinging out food. A piece of chicken hit Wilkie on the nose. He sniffed it – it smelled delicious.

Go on, Wilkie, called Fubb. You can have that piece. It’s all yours.

Wilkie did as he was told and wolfed down the chicken and everything else that Tuft threw his way. Wilkie ate so much he soon began to feel quite giddy.

BANG!

Gun! shouted Fubb. It’s Big Ned – take off, Tuft!

The shock from the loud noise, and the weight of his stomach made Wilkie tip over backwards. Landing in the shadows behind a packing crate he collapsed in a tangled heap.

Hearing the bears scuttle away, Wilkie found himself trapped upside down yet again. Squirming frantically, he slipped sideways with his rear in the air in a most undignified manner. Finally, Wilkie plopped over and was able to scramble onto his paws. Peering through the broken slats of the packing crate he could see Big Ned standing by the back door of the restaurant, a long smoking stick clutched in his hand.

Darn bears! said Big Ned, turning and spitting heartily into a pile of sawdust. You come back here and I’ll give you another blast from my gun! Pepper those black furry butts with shot.

Wilkie shivered with fright. That smoking thing must be the