The Pictish Child
“Peter cried, jumping up from the sofa. “We’ve got to let them in before the mist gets them.”
“No, Peter …” Gran put a hand out to forestall him. “Who knows what else might come in with them, through that tear in history—”
But it was too late. He’d already run out of the living room and was heading toward the front door.
“Peter!” Jennifer shouted, going after him. “It might be a trick of the mist’s.”
“What if it’s not?” he called back. “We can’t leave them out there in it. That’s much too danger...ous.” He unbolted the lock and lifted the latch.
“You daft lad!” screamed the dog. “Dinna make a midden out of a mouse hole. Why would they be knocking? Yer mom and pop and Da each have a key!”
But it was too late. Peter had already cracked the door open and a wisp of the fog was creeping painfully over the metal doorstep.
“Mom?” Peter called out tremulously into the grey mist that was rapidly filling the courtyard. “Pop?”
As if to mock him, the fog called the same names back.MoreLess
“No, Peter …” Gran put a hand out to forestall him. “Who knows what else might come in with them, through that tear in history—”
But it was too late. He’d already run out of the living room and was heading toward the front door.
“Peter!” Jennifer shouted, going after him. “It might be a trick of the mist’s.”
“What if it’s not?” he called back. “We can’t leave them out there in it. That’s much too danger...ous.” He unbolted the lock and lifted the latch.
“You daft lad!” screamed the dog. “Dinna make a midden out of a mouse hole. Why would they be knocking? Yer mom and pop and Da each have a key!”
But it was too late. Peter had already cracked the door open and a wisp of the fog was creeping painfully over the metal doorstep.
“Mom?” Peter called out tremulously into the grey mist that was rapidly filling the courtyard. “Pop?”
As if to mock him, the fog called the same names back.MoreLess
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