Children's Fiction
It was seven minutes after midnight on the seventh day. Whoooooooosh! A flash of light streaked the sky. A shooting star touched a strange carving on the hillside and a magical horse shook itself free of the chalk and rose to its feet. It was seven minutes after midnight on the seventh day of the seventh month. The only person watching was Chantel. No matter. It was enough. The summer of magic could begin.
There were a lot of things they should have done, Robin realized, as the cold formed an icy ball inside her chest. The emergency survival pack—why had she forgotten to grab that? She though miserably of all the things inside it—matches, a space blanket, a tiny stove... This was stupid. They should go back. People died of hypothermia in this kind of weather.
