Charging through the branches, leaping over roots and bushes, sliding down muddy embankments. Frankie loved the woods behind the playing fields. Lost in a world of her own she had been many things: knights, outlaws, monsters, animals. Here she had space to let her imagination flourish.
As the sun began to set the woods took on a different character: dark, oppressive, shadowy. Sounds amplified around the treetops, each one a sinister echo. A broken twig became a giant’s footstep, a bird’s song became a warning call. Now Frankie crept stealthily, careful not to make a noise.
With a heavy heart she left the den she had built and walked to the edge of the woods. Across the threshold lay real life with all it’s rules and conventions and limitations: the small bedroom she had to share with her little brother, her parents downstairs having their nightly slanging match.
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