Editor’s note: Hi, Junior Dispatch readers. Please re-read this contest entry. The beginning was missing in the first posting due to problems with the attachment the writer used. Sorry, Grace!
By Grace Good
Age 12, Hanover
Windsong, the daughter of a shopkeeper and my friend, wondered how long it would be before the dungeon key would be found. Her father’s business had suffered terribly since the key was originally stolen, and now Baramond was considered to be dangerous, I wrote in my journal. Then I flipped its leather cover overtop the words and bound it with a scrap of twine my father, Treeheart, had given to me. I stood up, mounted Loosefoot, my trusty mare, and bounded off towards home. Earlier today, I’d been to the market with my father’s carvings. Being a woodcarver, his works were selling, but barely. Nobody had much use for novelties, and the tools and furniture he made everyone seemed to have. I reached our cottage and entered with a brisk knock. Inside, I found Echo, my brother; Blossom, my mother; and Pado, the village storyteller. Mother and Pado were working in the kitchen. I grinned. Pado was my favorite guest. He made up new stories, but kept the old in case someone, like me, decided they’d like to hear one.
“Hello, Pado. Hello, Mother,” I greeted them. “What’s for supper?”
“Hello, Whisper. Tonight we will have a loaf of nut bread, your favorite; cheese, and some spicy beef chili. Pado will help me prepare supper, so please fetch your father,” my mother ordered.
“Of course,” I curtsied to them. “Good-bye, Pado.”Read More