“A cold breeze blows over my face. Then something warm an’ wet, stinking of damp hair. I open my eyes, slowly, one at a time. Focus. “Ugghh!” I shouts, “gits offa me!” A furry face cocks its head ’bove me an’ whimpers. “Alfie git!” a voice says. “Baxter, y’all ok?” It’s Trent. He’s wearing a cut lip an’ a black eye. I try an’ move, sit up but I can’t. The pain won’t let me. I grimace, breathe deep. Rest.”

Extract from Chapter 4 of ‘The Boy a Thousand Years Wide’