Throwaways: The Claus Chronicles (According to Me)
Sprache: Englisch
Verlag: Authorhouse, 2010
- Softcover
- Neu

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In den WarenkorbArtikelbeschreibung des Verkäufers
In English.
Bestandsnummer des Verkäufers ria9781452081724_new
- Titel
- Throwaways: The Claus Chronicles (According to Me)
- Autor
- Strahan, D R
- Verlag
- Authorhouse
- Erscheinungsjahr
- 2010
- Zustand
- New
- Einband
- Softcover
- Sprache
- Englisch
- ISBN-10
- 1452081727
- ISBN-13
- 9781452081724
- Artikelgewicht
- 513 Gramm
„Inhaltsangabe“ gehört möglicherweise zu einer anderen Auflage dieses Titels.
Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.
Throwaways
The Claus Chronicles (according to me)By D. R. StrahanAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 D. R. StrahanAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-8172-4
Contents
Chapter One At il.....................................1Chapter Two Children of the Night.....................21Chapter Three The Tunnel..............................37Chapter Four The Elf..................................61Chapter Five The Camp.................................75Chapter Six The Return................................89Chapter Seven The Meeting Place.......................99Chapter Eight Home at Last............................107Chapter Nine The Raid.................................119Chapter Ten What's in a Name..........................131Chapter Eleven The Long Walk..........................141Chapter Twelve The Shadows............................157Chapter Thirteen The Pond.............................171Chapter Fourteen Gone Fishing.........................179Chapter Fifteen The Sleigh............................189Chapter Sixteen The Storm.............................199Chapter Seventeen Gates of Re.........................211Chapter Eighteen Mist of Light........................227Chapter Nineteen Free Fall............................237Epilogue...............................................253
Chapter One
At ilFor one split second the sun faded out the winter darkness and displayed a brilliant sky of blue. Its golden rays of light sifted through soft, white clouds and reflected the brightness on snow covered fields below. Just as quickly as it came the sun flash passed, allowing the darkness to again take over the sky. Daylight season had now begun far north of the Arctic Circle.
Nearing twilight, some weeks later, a thirteen-year-old boy called Fox was frantically pacing back and forth behind a pile of rubble at the city dump. He had been waiting most of the day for his friends. "They should have been here by now," he mumbled under his breath. They were late and he was scared. With anxiety peaking, he glared at the empty path stretching toward the alley below.
Suddenly hearing the distant sound of trampling boots, he cringed, nervously holding his breath. "Oh, no," he whispered, quickly ducking out of sight. "It's the guards-they're already making their rounds." He squeezed between the bundles of garbage and stood perfectly still, trying to control his chattering teeth. With hands pushed against his lips, Fox tried to calm down.
They came closer.
"Ya know tha' boy, Fox," said the first guard.
Hearing his name, an icy shiver slid down Fox's back. "They're looking for me." His body stiffened.
"Yeah, what about him?" said his partner.
"We gotta keep an eye out fer `im, ya know."
"Why? He seems like an okay kid."
"Wal, that's the word."
"But he's the governor's boy."
"Makes no difrence ef `e is er not."
Gathering up some nerve, Fox pulled the knit koyt more snuggly over his curly mop of copper red hair and poked his head out. He held his breath, not daring to move, as they came closer.
One of the guards glanced in his direction, then back to his partner.
"What did he do?"
"Dunno. Prob'ly stealin'. Ya know how that goes."
"I guess."
They turned at the end of the street.
Fox's knees buckled. "Too close," he shuddered. Sliding to the ground, he pulled his knees tight against his stomach and squeezed them together, heaving a sigh of relief.
An instant later, his thoughts flashed back to his friends. He jumped to his feet, whispering frantically into the dull afternoon. "Wolf! Hawk! Where are you?"
For the thirtieth time it seemed, he had gazed down the empty hill. His friends were not there and he knew it. Dejectedly he turned, forcing his feet back toward the crate where he had spent most of the afternoon, and sat down. Slipping off the koyt, he raked his fingers through the tangled mass of rusty locks beneath, nervously massaging his ears. After turning up the cuff around the edge of it, he pulled it back on.
There was nothing left to do but wait.
Fox had lived most of his life with his parents in At il, an old forgotten city, far north of the Arctic Circle. Although located close to the flat, open tundra, the small community was well protected by a high, thickly-coated barricade of snow and ice. It had a catwalk, leading each direction around the city, with steps to the ground on either side of the wall. Perched on top and to the right of the steps, was a security shack. Directly above the shack hung a roughly-hewn placard of wood, with the engraved letters At il, marking the city entrance. It was better known by residents as the old city.
The city entrance faced south. It overlooked a broad span of spindly, tough growth of vines and small bushes that spiked through the thick layer of ice coating that only melted slightly throughout the year. This wide band of brush, sporadically dotted with low-growing vegetation and occasional small trees, stretched toward the eastern and western horizons. It separated the tree line from the vast northern wilderness of frozen plains, as well as pressing across the valley toward the mountain foothills.
Tempered from view by nearby craggily hills, the city fortress was well camouflaged by broken tree limbs, wood chunks and loose brush which had been driven into the city's outer base by the harsh northern winds.
Early one morning Fox was lying in bed, planning his first day of the three month break from his studies at the university. He would begin his fourth year when classes resumed. Most of his break was already scheduled out and he was anxious to get started.
When he overheard his name mentioned he automatically became more attentive to his parents conversation. His father, the city governor and his mother, the director of city planning, were in the tiny kitchen collecting their lunches and about to leave for work.
"I suppose he's meeting his friends."
"Sandor didn't say-," his mother said.
"They call him Fox, you know," his father pointed out.
"I know. It's a pity," she answered.
"It's safer, though."
"Don't forget your fruit. The market doesn't often stock fresh produce."
"I've got it. Thanks." He reached toward his coat pocket. "Do you have the house key?"
"Um-hum, it's right here."
A few moments later Fox heard the front door close and the click of the lock, as they left. At the window he watched them cross the street, half-noticing the dreary light beaming from the lamp above them as they stepped on the sidewalk and turned, heading toward their offices down town. Turning back toward his room, he thought, "I guess I'd better get ready to go. I have a lot of stops to make this morning. Hawk and Wolf are usually on time-don't want to be late."
He smoothed the down-filled comforter over his half-sized bunk and pushed the worn edge of it between the bed frame and dresser then sat down, still mulling over his plans. Turning slightly, he pulled clean thermal socks and underwear from the upper drawer of his bureau. After a quick glance across the room, he nodded approvingly at the slight morning light. Reaching for his boots from under the window, he sat on the bed to put them on. With a deft twist to straighten the liners, he then buckled them in place.
Once dressed and ready to leave, Fox headed for the pantry to gather food and supplies for the day. He then rifled through the cupboard, in search of...
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