Extract from The Willigrews 3





          Dawn and the village of Willigrew was waking up to a warm, sunny day. Alarm clocks were being silenced and kettles were being boiled for that early morning cup of chickweed tea.

          Krowfin stretched, scratched his armpits and yawned as he prepared for another busy day in the chickweed beds.

          He was rushing a bit having overslept; he was due to meet the working party on the village green in about three minutes. One last fluff up of his fur and he was off at the gallop.

          When he arrived at the working party, he was greeted by several remarks. ‘Come on lazy bones, we’ve been waiting for hours’ etc.

          The little workers set off for the chickweed beds led by Bronglay who did a little skippy walk and was soon joined by the rest of the Willigrews.

          A very summery sight as the little friends skipped along in the early morning sunshine.

          However, everyone turned to look at Krowfin who was standing still and looking at the big hill on the edge of the village.

          ‘What have you seen Krowfin old chap?’ asked Longstint.

          ‘That’, he replied, pointing.

          ‘Which ‘that’ are you talking about,’ Krowfin replied, ‘there are lots of that’s on the hill? Do you mean the mole hill that or the row of bushes that, or perhaps that that is a them?’

          ‘How on earth can you not see it?’ said Krowfin, jumping up and down, ‘the horse, the giant white horse on the very highest point.’

          Longstint, eventually looked in the right place and, what he saw was soon spotted by the rest of the Willigrews.

          There, on the hill was indeed a horse, a large beautiful horse with pure white coat and piercing blue eyes.

          Our little friends looked on in awe as it started down toward them.        

          ‘It is so wonderful,’ said Dora, ‘like a magic ghost.’ Her eyes and her mouth wide open and her ears pointing in different directions (her nostrils, not wanting to get involved, did nothing).

          ‘Oh dear,’ gasped Yill, ‘I think the poor creature is injured, it has something stuck in its head. We must help it.’

          Bronglay spoke, ‘Hold on Yill, that isn’t stuck in its head, in fact it is not injured at all. If I am not very much mistaken that is a horn. I think we have just seen a unicorn’ . . . . . . .