“Tristan did not consider himself brave. But then he did not consider himself a coward either. He knew he should have told his parents of his plan but they were asleep when he set off, long before dawn.

A brash orange sun had risen and the cold wind from the west chilled Tristan but he carried on along the skinny, ancient lane that led, for all its fussy winding, north. Sometimes the wet and rutted route ran between ancient granite walls that incorporated the bulbous contours of vast boulders, at other times it sank into gullies bordered by wildly overgrown hedgerows. Both provided some shelter from the wind. Fringing the lane were dew-soaked gorse bushes. Beyond, at the edge of the moor, was a glistening expanse of dying bracken whose dark orange colour was enriched by the early morning light.”


Extract from ‘Citadel of Time’ – included in the showcase