Every week I'm posting a chapter from my first completed (unpublished) novel BLACK MARKET BEARDS. You can find out more about it here.

If you missed it, here's chapter 4.

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The short drop drove Rowan’s ribs into the mole’s shoulder and spattered his face with something cold and wet. The grainy taste of earth met his tongue as he swept it around his lips.
           
His mole lurched sideways, and then struggled upwards and level again. Mud slurped like the last drops of a milkshake being sucked through a straw, obviously hindering the mole’s progress.
           
​Once again Rowan was engulfed in darkness. If he stayed in the Pockets much longer, he’d have to learn to see in the dark. The sound of other moles squelching through the mud came from ahead, and soon his own carrier was lumbering after them. 

Every week I'm going to be posting a chapter from my first completed (unpublished) novel BLACK MARKET BEARDS. You can find out more about it here.

If you missed it, here's chapter 3.

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They were hit by a wave of dirt, peppering them hard with stones and earth. Rowan threw an arm across his face to protect his eyes.

The baying of animal noises and the crashes of the incoming attack all collapsed into one another to become a single deafening roar. The only sound to rise above it was the scrabbling of claws at the walls.
           
​Another explosion blew through the cells, once again pelting Rowan with rubble. The clang and clatter of collapsing metal rang in his ears.

Every week I'm going to be posting a chapter from my first completed (unpublished) novel BLACK MARKET BEARDS. You can find out more about it here.

If you missed it, here's chapter 2.

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Rowan wasn’t sure if he’d slept. How long had it been since Doremi and his wolf padded away from the cell, Fasol and Latido grinning smugly as they followed? It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours.
           
Thoughts flashed through his mind like a lightning storm. This could all be a dream. Perhaps the thunder had penetrated his sleep and bullied it into a nightmare.
           
Yet as Rowan lay on his back and stared at his blue nylon slippers, he knew that it wasn’t a dream. Marvin was right: he really was in quite a pickle.
           
​Why had he been so scared of a little thunder? If he’d been stronger he could have seen the bandits off, screamed, scratched, bitten; anything to chase them from his dad’s bedroom.