Gary Taaffe's Blog, page 11
July 31, 2013
I Am Growing to Love this Series..., by W. D LaRue
Amazon review of TRIBAL SCARRING (book 2)Having read the first book, I was not disappointed by this one.
This guy is a very good writer and this book is a thoroughly enjoyable read. I can't wait to read the rest of the books in this series and see how he develops the plot and the characters.
Billy has now left the clan and is now embarking on his "walkabout" and I am a little worried about him. Funny how a well written story can make you feel intensely about it's characters.
Get a copy here :)
July 30, 2013
Chapter 20 MOTH BALLS
Billy woke on daybreak to a full–blown tantrum–chucking storm. It muffled the sounds of the pups chewing on his poncho — they were hungry again. He’d wanted to save some of last night’s jerky but he’d been desperate to get them to sleep. He checked the bottlebrush flowers that he’d collected along with the firewood yesterday and was happy to see hundreds of syrupy droplets now hanging from each flower. It wasn’t much, but at least it would be something.He rescued his poncho and roused on the pups. The damage wasn’t too bad, just some bite marks around the edges. He put it out of reach and then folded some paperbark into a cup for himself and a bowl for the pups. Filled each from a run of water cascading over the overhang, added a hot stone from the fire and dunked the bottlebrush flowers into the water. The tea it made was sweet, which didn’t impress the pups at all, however they lapped it up anyway and instantly became bright–eyed and playful.
Billy was happy to see them feeling better but he knew the sugar fix wouldn’t last long. He predicted a couple of hungry days ahead of him if he didn’t work something out. He sipped his tea and considered how lucky he was to at least have some water to drink.
He spent a relaxing day while the pups recovered; hoping for a break in the weather that would allow him to go out and forage. By sun–down, he decided to set some traps in the hope of snaring at least something that might wander in for shelter. He didn’t like his chances but he had to try.
He made a torch and wedged it in a crack just below the ceiling in the corner of the back wall, hoping that moths would be attracted to the light and fly into the flames in their excitement. The rising heat would blow them towards the roof, burn off their wings and then roast them as they fell back through the flames.
He wondered why the big Bogong moths were late swarming this summer. Normally he’d be grabbing handfuls from rocky crevices and rolling them in hot ash to cook. All that would be left after the ash had burnt off their wings was a delicious little ball of protein. Moth balls for breakfast — one of his favourites.
Thinking about them was making him hungry so he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. He mounted a large, flat rock beneath the flames to collect the moths, and then imagined getting so many that he could grind them into a paste and bake some biscuits. Mmm, moth biscuits — sooo good. He especially liked them fresh out of the oven.
He was fixating again.
He adjusted the rock, making sure it wasn’t too close to the flames as a python might like to curl up and get warm. He pictured the heat from the fire carrying the scent of the wet pups into all the rocky crevices above the overhang. They would have smelt them already, he was sure of that. He’d seen their skins on the way up the path and some of their scat was in the overhang. One was a worry — its skin was really big, probably visiting often in search of sleeping wallabies. He decided to keep the pups close at night.
He also set his sights on some of the smaller marsupials that might be around, anything from Sugar gliders to possums. He ground up a Gidgee Gidgee seed from his collection and mixed it with the sap of the Bramble wattle tree. It was sweet with a strong odour that would attract prey even through this storm. One lick and they’d be dead. Billy would be too if he ate the dead animal’s stomach.
He smeared the bait onto a piece of wood and buried it within a pile of heavy rocks. Then he watched the pups while they sniffed around and tried to dig their way in. He made some adjustments so they couldn’t get it and sat back to wait.
Billy was restless that night, waking often and counting the pups, cautiously checking for lurking snakes. It wasn’t only pythons that he had to worry about, there’d be plenty of black snakes and brown snakes and a myriad of other highly venomous serpents around to slither in and deliver a fatal bite.
He was bleary eyed the next morning when he was woken by the still unfamiliar feel of snuggling pups.
Three.
Phew.
Nothing in the traps.
Damn.
Storm still raging.
Damn.
Everything felt damp.
He propped himself on an elbow to throw some wood into the ashes and admire the pups. Three little brothers, he considered. He was one of three brothers. He smiled at how strange life was. He’d left his brothers to go walkabout and found three brothers to keep him company. I’m the big brother now, he smiled.
He wondered what to call them — Mallee, Pindaari and Billy seemed silly. He didn’t know many names. Cobar, Burnam and Mandu made him laugh. The pups had a comical way about them. He remembered seeing dingo pups at play that would often end up in a fight. Not these guys. They were just full of fun. Even when they were half asleep and someone’s tail landed on their face, they couldn’t stop themselves from grabbing it with their mouth and holding it, just for a stir.
He remembered Burnam telling him funny stories about three guys they knew at the stockman’s house where he and Cobar used to sleep — Larry, Curly and Moe.
Larry, Curly and Moe, he considered. He liked it. It made him laugh just thinking about it.
He tried to pick out the one that was always more alert than the others — the alarmist, to call him Larry, but they all looked so alike. Another one was always quick to curl up in his lap. He’d call him Curly; if only he could figure out which one he was. They were all snuggled together in a tight ball by his belly.
“Larry, Curly and Moe,” he said aloud. All three heads popped up instantly. One with an intelligent tilt. “Hello, Larry,” he said with a pat.
“Rrruuff,” he returned with sleepy eyes and a big yawn.
Billy sat up and gave one of the other pups a pat. He seemed a little bigger and beefier than his brothers. The other pup crawled into his lap.
“Hello, Curly.”
Curly put his head down and went back to sleep.
“And you must be, Moe,” Billy said with a tickle. Moe was instantly up for a game. He jumped at Billy and nipped at his fingers playfully. Curly was getting trampled and couldn’t sleep so he joined in. Larry barked and grabbed a hold of Moe’s wagging tail.
******************************************************
Please "Like" my Facebook page and "Share" these chapters with your friends to help me spread the word. Gary Taaffe (author page) https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gary-Taaffe/212091488802148?fref=ts
All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com
"... so look forward to ANYTHING you write."
Got such a buzz from a letter sent today by an Amazon reviewer. Knowing you're all fans of the Urban Hunters series I thought you might like to see what others are saying:Hi Gary I am now on book 6 and loving everyone of the books you've written. Can't tell you how pleased I am that I am enjoying them so much. Will write a more or less wrap up review for the 6th book and so look forward to ANYTHING you write. Regards Don L
It’s the ‘... so look forward to ANYTHING you write.’ part that really excites me. That’s what you want to hear when you’re trying to make a career out of writing. Making readers ravenous for your work makes me ravenous to write more. Thanks heaps, Don. I’m on it.
July 29, 2013
Jessica B Interviews Gary Taaffe
Famous Amazon book reviewer and blogger Jessica B (@BooksATrueStory) nailed me down to torture this interview out of me. I don't do them often but Jessica has been an ardent fan of the Urban Hunters series from the beginning, so if you're interested in what she got out of me, check it out here.
I’m so glad to have Gary Taaffe on my blog today! He’s written the Urban Hunters series about an Aboriginal boy who leaves the Australian bush. I asked Gary a few questions:
* What were your favorite books as a teen?
* Do you read young adult books now? If you do, what are some of your favorites?
* Do you have any other projects or ideas for the future besides Urban Hunters?
* What is the most interesting or bizarre thing you’ve googled while writing your books?
* What inspired you to write the Urban Hunters?
July 21, 2013
Chapter 19 LOVE HURTS
[image error]
The moment Billy’s foot fell upon the dry sand of the overhang, he felt the warmth of a thousand fires, heard the songs of a thousand Dreamtime stories and stared in awe of the paintings covering every wall. Layer upon layer of hunting scenes invoking success, ceremonial dancers, and the ghosted handprints of travellers paying their respects. Billy stood in silence, humbled to the core. This was more than just an overhang, a cool rock formation or even a grand cathedral.
The spirit of the land had built this place itself.
A sanctuary for all. Forever.
Billy’s brothers had been here too; their foot prints were everywhere — the kangaroo.
He wanted to add his mark, to include his spirit in this special place, but for now, he needed a fire.
He found a spot for his spears, hat, boomerangs and bag. The pups crawled out immediately, the smell of kangaroo too intriguing to ignore.
Billy scrounged around for dry wood but there was only a meagre scattering of twigs and leaves. He did find a few pieces of more substantial wood near the entrance but it was pretty wet. So was his fire starting material that he kept in his bag. The only thing dry was the sand so he rolled everything around in that to transfer the moisture.
When he was absolutely sure that everything was ready, he began with his fire starting sticks. He knew he had to be careful, his hands were soft and pruny after being wet all day. His palms would blister easily or worse, tear. He started slow, getting a feel for the tender spots on his hands. A tiny puff of smoke eventually appeared that filled him with hope — a coal was forming. But he needed a big one to be sure of it igniting the wet tinder so he kept twisting the stick between the palms of his hands, trying to ignore the pain.
He was grateful for Mallee’s attention to detail, rounding and smoothing his fire starting stick. It could have been much worse. Using a stick from the scrub to start a fire was always a gamble. Bark on the wood and the knobs from broken branches always tore at his skin. Once that happened, he had no way of starting a fire.
More smoke now. And it was constant. He knew a good sized coal was forming. Nearly there. Suddenly a flame burst from the base stick between his feet. Yeah! He tipped the coal into a clump of Spinifex and watched with satisfaction as the coal rolled like a stone from the depression in the base stick. It burst into flames immediately.
He piled on a bunch of twigs, almost smothering the flames in his haste. Quickly he gave the coal a gentle blow but the damp twigs were painfully slow to catch. Then he saw the unmistakeably solid flame of a twig, like a candle. Then another and another. He added more sticks, increasing their size as he progressed. The sticks started to crackle, telling him there was enough heat to add one of the wet branches. All it did was smoulder and smoke. He poked some eucalyptus leaves under it which caught alight immediately, their oil spitting and crackling violently in objection to the moisture that had soaked into the leaves. Their flame was hot, which dried the wood quickly and set it alight.
Billy sat back in relief — he had a fire.
The pups were excited by his efforts and crowded around to soak up the warmth. They ended up sitting so close that steam started swirling up from their shivering little bodies.
He watched their eyes to see if they were getting heavy, needing them to go to sleep so he could sneak away and get some more wood. But it wasn’t to be — they were well rested and alert to his every move after spending all day asleep in his bag.
A belly full of food always put him to sleep so he figured it would do the same for them. He broke out the jerky and shared it around but all it did was give them energy. They became playful, nipping each others ears and toes and tails. He was happy to see them feeling better but he wished they’d just go to sleep.
He decided he might as well get some rest himself so he lay down by the fire. The pups saw it as an opportunity to snuggle into his face and lick it. He covered up as best he could and hoped they’d get the message. They eventually did.
Just as he was nodding off, the pups got tired and settled down for a sleep as well. Now he had to wake himself up! Having pets was more work than he expected.
Snores started emanating from the trio which made Billy smile, reminding him of Cobar’s thunderous snoring. He was imagining his family rolling around in stitches after hearing Cobar snoring like a cute little puppy.
He started inching away, trying not to disturb them as he made his escape, but the sand was really noisy. He finally made it to the awning of the overhang with the rain just inches from his face. He felt free again, having abandoned his shorts, less than impressed with the feel of wet pants. He took a deep breath and dove in.
At the bottom of the trail he noticed how it had obviously been too long since a fire had gone through the area. No Aborigines here either, he commiserated. Not only was there a lot of highly flammable undergrowth to fight through, but there was too much dead wood laying about as well. Easy pickings on a wood hunt, he reasoned, trying to remain positive. It allowed him to be selective, collecting only the hardwood that would burn the hottest and the longest. It didn’t take long to gather a large pile, enough to last a few days if he was careful. He needed paperbark too so he tore long lengths up the trunks of many of the surrounding trees.
Just as he was finishing up, he heard the whimpers of the pups. Damn. So close. He couldn’t see them through the rain blanketing his vision, but he could tell they were working their way down the trail.
One emerged through the haze like the sorry soul of a ghost. His ears hanging low and looking like they were weighing down his head. It tore at Billy’s heart to see him in such a state of distress so he crouched down to greet them all. They climbed up, burying their noses deep into his belly with all their strength. He tried to comfort them, but all they could do was cry.
Their desperation shocked him. He’d never felt such love. Such powerful love. He hugged them close, trying to absorb their pain.
He had to get them out of the rain. It was relentless. He tried to put them down so he could gather an armful of wood and then balance them on top of that, but they were clinging to him like glue. In the end he just grabbed a few logs and carried the pups back up the path.
He stoked the fire and sat down with them, trying to figure out what to do. He knew they’d follow him again if he left to get the rest of the wood. They looked so weak. Sopping wet and heart broken. One of them was standing back, looking at him with a very stern face and grumbling, not growling or barking, it was as if he was rousing on Billy, telling him that he shouldn’t have left them. Billy really did feel like he’d been told off.
“I’m sorry little, fella. I won’t leave you again.” It was the alarmist. Billy reached out to offer him an apologetic pat. He hesitated for a tiny moment and then came straight over for a snuggle.
There was nothing else Billy could do, he’d just have to put them into his bag and carry them. That is what kangaroos did, after all.
They spent a while drying off and settling down. Then he loaded them up and began what would turn out to be one of the most arduous tasks of his life.
He travelled up and down that trail more times than he could count, each time with as big a load as he could carry and always including the pups. Then there were the awkward trips carrying the long wind–break poles, managing only two at a time while negotiating the many twists and turns of the path.
Billy finally collapsed by the fire, relieved to be done with that part of the job.
The pups scurried straight out of the pouch and sat all over him, trying to stop him from escaping again.
While they settled down he tried to work out how he was going to construct the wind–break. It would have to be really solid so it would survive the storm. He stared at the raindrops disappearing into the grey, and then disappear altogether into an inky black night as the sun gave up hope of maintaining a day. All he could think about was how vulnerable the pups still were.
He turned his attention to the interior of the overhang and noticed how the colours of the sandstone had taken on a dramatic new appearance. The glow of the night–fire bringing out all the drama. Soft reds blending with golden yellows. Characters in the paintings dancing to the flicker of the fire. Songs of ceremony drifted into Billy’s mind so he sang along, acknowledging the spirits of the cave. It lifted his own spirit, giving him the energy he needed to erect the wind break.
The pups whimpered in objection as he got to work, tangling themselves around his legs and sitting on his feet whenever he stood still. He told them he wasn’t going anywhere, but they remained unconvinced.
He wedged six poles from the floor to the roof and used his supply of twine to tie horizontal poles as high as he could reach. He put it all to the test by climbing it like a ladder and adding more horizontal poles all the way to the roof.
The pups climbed it too, surprising Billy with how clever they were, until they kept getting stuck because they couldn’t climb back down again. He patiently carried them to the ground and did his best not to tread on them. They eventually decided that they could guard him just as well from around the fire, until a puppy’s need for sleep became stronger than their will to stay awake. One by one they nodded off into a restless sleep — their fear of abandonment plaguing them with nightmares. They kept waking with a whimper and periscoping their sleepy little Bull terrier heads in search of their hero. He was busy weaving paperbark in and around the poles like wallpaper.
The windbreak ran for about three metres, a third of the way along the face of the overhang, with the fireplace sitting just beyond the end of it. Billy was able to sit out of the wind and still poke at the fire with a stick, creating a cosy, smoke–free cave, perfect for the four of them.
He prepared a small pile of wood within easy reach of his bed to throw into the fire through the night, welcomed a weary yawn, snuggled the pups in close and then fell into a deep sleep.
******************************************************
Don't forget, please "Like" my Facebook page and "Share" these chapters with your friends to help me spread the word. Gary Taaffe (author page) https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gary-Taaffe/212091488802148?fref=ts
All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com
The spirit of the land had built this place itself.
A sanctuary for all. Forever.
Billy’s brothers had been here too; their foot prints were everywhere — the kangaroo.
He wanted to add his mark, to include his spirit in this special place, but for now, he needed a fire.
He found a spot for his spears, hat, boomerangs and bag. The pups crawled out immediately, the smell of kangaroo too intriguing to ignore.
Billy scrounged around for dry wood but there was only a meagre scattering of twigs and leaves. He did find a few pieces of more substantial wood near the entrance but it was pretty wet. So was his fire starting material that he kept in his bag. The only thing dry was the sand so he rolled everything around in that to transfer the moisture.
When he was absolutely sure that everything was ready, he began with his fire starting sticks. He knew he had to be careful, his hands were soft and pruny after being wet all day. His palms would blister easily or worse, tear. He started slow, getting a feel for the tender spots on his hands. A tiny puff of smoke eventually appeared that filled him with hope — a coal was forming. But he needed a big one to be sure of it igniting the wet tinder so he kept twisting the stick between the palms of his hands, trying to ignore the pain.
He was grateful for Mallee’s attention to detail, rounding and smoothing his fire starting stick. It could have been much worse. Using a stick from the scrub to start a fire was always a gamble. Bark on the wood and the knobs from broken branches always tore at his skin. Once that happened, he had no way of starting a fire.
More smoke now. And it was constant. He knew a good sized coal was forming. Nearly there. Suddenly a flame burst from the base stick between his feet. Yeah! He tipped the coal into a clump of Spinifex and watched with satisfaction as the coal rolled like a stone from the depression in the base stick. It burst into flames immediately.
He piled on a bunch of twigs, almost smothering the flames in his haste. Quickly he gave the coal a gentle blow but the damp twigs were painfully slow to catch. Then he saw the unmistakeably solid flame of a twig, like a candle. Then another and another. He added more sticks, increasing their size as he progressed. The sticks started to crackle, telling him there was enough heat to add one of the wet branches. All it did was smoulder and smoke. He poked some eucalyptus leaves under it which caught alight immediately, their oil spitting and crackling violently in objection to the moisture that had soaked into the leaves. Their flame was hot, which dried the wood quickly and set it alight.
Billy sat back in relief — he had a fire.
The pups were excited by his efforts and crowded around to soak up the warmth. They ended up sitting so close that steam started swirling up from their shivering little bodies.
He watched their eyes to see if they were getting heavy, needing them to go to sleep so he could sneak away and get some more wood. But it wasn’t to be — they were well rested and alert to his every move after spending all day asleep in his bag.
A belly full of food always put him to sleep so he figured it would do the same for them. He broke out the jerky and shared it around but all it did was give them energy. They became playful, nipping each others ears and toes and tails. He was happy to see them feeling better but he wished they’d just go to sleep.
He decided he might as well get some rest himself so he lay down by the fire. The pups saw it as an opportunity to snuggle into his face and lick it. He covered up as best he could and hoped they’d get the message. They eventually did.
Just as he was nodding off, the pups got tired and settled down for a sleep as well. Now he had to wake himself up! Having pets was more work than he expected.
Snores started emanating from the trio which made Billy smile, reminding him of Cobar’s thunderous snoring. He was imagining his family rolling around in stitches after hearing Cobar snoring like a cute little puppy.
He started inching away, trying not to disturb them as he made his escape, but the sand was really noisy. He finally made it to the awning of the overhang with the rain just inches from his face. He felt free again, having abandoned his shorts, less than impressed with the feel of wet pants. He took a deep breath and dove in.
At the bottom of the trail he noticed how it had obviously been too long since a fire had gone through the area. No Aborigines here either, he commiserated. Not only was there a lot of highly flammable undergrowth to fight through, but there was too much dead wood laying about as well. Easy pickings on a wood hunt, he reasoned, trying to remain positive. It allowed him to be selective, collecting only the hardwood that would burn the hottest and the longest. It didn’t take long to gather a large pile, enough to last a few days if he was careful. He needed paperbark too so he tore long lengths up the trunks of many of the surrounding trees.
Just as he was finishing up, he heard the whimpers of the pups. Damn. So close. He couldn’t see them through the rain blanketing his vision, but he could tell they were working their way down the trail.
One emerged through the haze like the sorry soul of a ghost. His ears hanging low and looking like they were weighing down his head. It tore at Billy’s heart to see him in such a state of distress so he crouched down to greet them all. They climbed up, burying their noses deep into his belly with all their strength. He tried to comfort them, but all they could do was cry.
Their desperation shocked him. He’d never felt such love. Such powerful love. He hugged them close, trying to absorb their pain.
He had to get them out of the rain. It was relentless. He tried to put them down so he could gather an armful of wood and then balance them on top of that, but they were clinging to him like glue. In the end he just grabbed a few logs and carried the pups back up the path.
He stoked the fire and sat down with them, trying to figure out what to do. He knew they’d follow him again if he left to get the rest of the wood. They looked so weak. Sopping wet and heart broken. One of them was standing back, looking at him with a very stern face and grumbling, not growling or barking, it was as if he was rousing on Billy, telling him that he shouldn’t have left them. Billy really did feel like he’d been told off.
“I’m sorry little, fella. I won’t leave you again.” It was the alarmist. Billy reached out to offer him an apologetic pat. He hesitated for a tiny moment and then came straight over for a snuggle.
There was nothing else Billy could do, he’d just have to put them into his bag and carry them. That is what kangaroos did, after all.
They spent a while drying off and settling down. Then he loaded them up and began what would turn out to be one of the most arduous tasks of his life.
He travelled up and down that trail more times than he could count, each time with as big a load as he could carry and always including the pups. Then there were the awkward trips carrying the long wind–break poles, managing only two at a time while negotiating the many twists and turns of the path.
Billy finally collapsed by the fire, relieved to be done with that part of the job.
The pups scurried straight out of the pouch and sat all over him, trying to stop him from escaping again.
While they settled down he tried to work out how he was going to construct the wind–break. It would have to be really solid so it would survive the storm. He stared at the raindrops disappearing into the grey, and then disappear altogether into an inky black night as the sun gave up hope of maintaining a day. All he could think about was how vulnerable the pups still were.
He turned his attention to the interior of the overhang and noticed how the colours of the sandstone had taken on a dramatic new appearance. The glow of the night–fire bringing out all the drama. Soft reds blending with golden yellows. Characters in the paintings dancing to the flicker of the fire. Songs of ceremony drifted into Billy’s mind so he sang along, acknowledging the spirits of the cave. It lifted his own spirit, giving him the energy he needed to erect the wind break.
The pups whimpered in objection as he got to work, tangling themselves around his legs and sitting on his feet whenever he stood still. He told them he wasn’t going anywhere, but they remained unconvinced.
He wedged six poles from the floor to the roof and used his supply of twine to tie horizontal poles as high as he could reach. He put it all to the test by climbing it like a ladder and adding more horizontal poles all the way to the roof.
The pups climbed it too, surprising Billy with how clever they were, until they kept getting stuck because they couldn’t climb back down again. He patiently carried them to the ground and did his best not to tread on them. They eventually decided that they could guard him just as well from around the fire, until a puppy’s need for sleep became stronger than their will to stay awake. One by one they nodded off into a restless sleep — their fear of abandonment plaguing them with nightmares. They kept waking with a whimper and periscoping their sleepy little Bull terrier heads in search of their hero. He was busy weaving paperbark in and around the poles like wallpaper.
The windbreak ran for about three metres, a third of the way along the face of the overhang, with the fireplace sitting just beyond the end of it. Billy was able to sit out of the wind and still poke at the fire with a stick, creating a cosy, smoke–free cave, perfect for the four of them.
He prepared a small pile of wood within easy reach of his bed to throw into the fire through the night, welcomed a weary yawn, snuggled the pups in close and then fell into a deep sleep.
******************************************************
Don't forget, please "Like" my Facebook page and "Share" these chapters with your friends to help me spread the word. Gary Taaffe (author page) https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gary-Taaffe/212091488802148?fref=ts
All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com
July 18, 2013
Chapter 18 HONEY
Lightning crashed violently in the sky above them, frightening Billy and making the pups huddle together.
“Gotta go, fellas,” Billy said urgently.
The alarmist cocked his head and put his paw over Honey.
“Don’t worry, she’s coming. I don’t know how I’m gonna carry you all but.”
He wondered if he could do as kangaroos do and carry the pups in his bag like a pouch. He put his hat and vest on, transferred all his bits and pieces into the many pockets of his shorts and then squeezed the boys into the bag. There was no room for Honey. He didn’t mind, he wanted to carry her anyway. He dunked her one last time, grabbed his spears and then hobbled off with far more babies poking their heads out of his pouch than any self–respecting kangaroo should have to bear.
He headed in the general direction of the peak, creek–hopping for a good hour before coming upon an isolated meadow with good protection from the wind. He really wanted to reach the peak and the possibility of an overhang, or maybe even a cave, but the storm was threatening to burst at any moment. He didn’t want to take the chance of being stuck out in the open without a shelter so he decided to stop and make one.
He lay Honey down and drizzled water into her mouth. Suddenly she coughed and spluttered and woke up. Billy couldn’t believe it. He was ecstatic. He quickly took off his hat and put his bag on the ground beside her so the boys could crawl out and greet her. They were really excited too, licking her face enthusiastically and nudging her into life. She could do little more than look around.
He gave her another drink and this time, she lapped at the drips thirstily, filling him with hope. He dunked her in the creek again, desperate to keep her cool, but then she started shivering. She’d already cooled down and now the cold wind was chilling her. He panicked, thinking he’d done her harm. She’d already been through so much. He wanted to rub her down and dry her off, but with her being so weak, he was worried that it would be too much for her. He huddled the boys around her, unfolded his bag into the poncho and lay it over the top of them to keep them warm.
They settled down immediately.
He took the opportunity to get a fire going and build a shelter. It wasn’t much, just a lean–to really, however it protected them from the wind and would keep them dry from the imminent storm.
Just as he was finishing, he noticed something white out of the corner of his eye. His little mate with the intelligent tilt was watching him again. He’d stuck his head out from under the poncho. He wondered how he was going to tell them apart as they all looked exactly the same — all snow white with a little black nose and a tiny pink tongue. He wondered about their age and tried to compare them to dingo pups. Then he noticed that their skin wasn’t floppy like a puppies. In fact it was stretched tight over their lean pumped up muscles. He could even see a network of straining veins under their skin. Maybe they not puppies? Maybe they just small? A year old, maybe? That’s still young enough to train ‘em to hunt.
They were funny looking dogs — about the size of a Chihuahua with thin bones covered in sprint athlete type muscles, and a menacing Roman–nosed Bull terrier head. Despite looking sickly, they still looked like they were set to explode out of the blocks and tear your toes off at the finish line if you weren’t careful.
As Billy sat under the shelter and poked at the fire with a stick, the alarmist came over and put his head on Billy’s leg. Billy gave him a generous pat — it was nice to have a friend. He broke out the jerky and shared it with his little mate. He didn’t eat much though, closing his eyes and falling asleep instead. Billy thought it was a good idea too so he gathered the pups under the shelter and lay down with them, holding Honey up against his body, trying to get her warm. She was still shivering.
He woke in the early hours of the morning to the mournful howls of the boys.
Honey had died.
He cradled her in his arms as tears welled in his eyes. It surprised him how upset he was becoming. He didn’t fight it. He let it flow like a flood and it felt good. The boys howled along with him, all becoming one in their grief. An ancestral song of mourning emerged from deep within his soul. It was sorrowful and helped him bawl it out. His emotions ebbed and flowed and stalled and rushed and gained a life of their own as a long–standing harrowing energy inside him was finally released. Billy felt none of the pouring rain and penetrating winds. He lay back down, numb, and holding Honey close; mourning the loss of her life and his own life of longing for something he didn’t really understand.
A mum.
He woke on daybreak holding all four pups tight within his arms. The boys had snuggled in, needing to be held too. A powerful gust of waterlogged wind demanded his attention. This was more than his shelter could bear with no end in sight.
Billy dug a deep hole for Honey in the centre of their shelter and placed her lifeless body in the bottom. It upset everyone. He covered her with dirt and carefully protected her grave with river stones. The pups could do little more than watch and whimper, still too weak to do anything else.
Billy inspected the fireplace with deep concern for Honey’s spirit. He needed to send her spirit to her place of birth so she wouldn’t become lost, forever wandering in fear. A smoking ceremony would see her safe, but the fireplace was a pool of water and the rain was torrential. It was hopeless.
“Gotta move,” Billy said as much to himself as to Honey’s brothers.
He tried them with some jerky for breakfast but they weren’t interested. Neither was he.
“Maybe we find a cave, hey?” he tried to be bright about it but it was all too depressing. “Come on,” he said while loading them into his pouch. They didn’t complain — it was a good place for a sick pup to be. His poncho would have been perfect to wear in this weather for himself, but he didn’t begrudge the pups for even a second. His only thought was to keep them warm and dry.
“Look after her, Mum,” he said, stepping into the storm, the pups lost in their own cocoon of sorrow.
The storm was determined to wreak havoc on their day as violent outbursts probed for weakness amongst the withered limbs of the old folk of the forest. Chaos ensued with a, “CRACK” and a, “CRUNCH” as limb after limb was torn from its body, scattering all below in fear of their life. “THUD,” the curtain call of another widow–maker’s bid for glory — to feed her folk on the rotting remnants of another unsuspecting victim, oblivious to the dangers from above on a windy day in the bush.
A day of dodging death in a storm–filled bush left Billy physically and mentally exhausted. He knew the general direction of the peak however visibility was reduced to no more than a hundred metres at best. Finding his way had taken all day. By the time he reached the bottom of the cliff face, he and the pups were in dire need of a decent shelter. He knew there must be one up there somewhere or his mum wouldn’t have guided him here. If only he could find a way up.
Back and forth he walked the base until finally, he stumbled upon what seemed to be an ancient trail. It was hard to see, all overgrown with grass and weeds but he noticed stones piled unnaturally along its sides. He remembered watching Cobar kick stones to the side of the path when he was a toddler. He thought it was a game so as he got faster on his feet he’d race ahead to be the first to kick the stones away. He didn’t realise it until later that it was all a lesson in taking care of the young and old.
On one side of the path lay a craggy old rock wall with homes for all things small, on the other, a shear drop to the forest floor. Every twist, every turn revealing another twist, another turn in a trail trodden by many in a time before time was known. Higher and higher he climbed, every step enlivening his soul to the prospect of what lay ahead. Above the canopy now where spirits rest, a final twist, a final turn, a dry sandy floor.
****************************************************** Don't forget, please "Like" my Facebook page and "Share" these chapters with your friends to help me spread the word. Gary Taaffe (author page) https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gary-Taaffe/212091488802148?fref=ts
All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com
“Gotta go, fellas,” Billy said urgently.
The alarmist cocked his head and put his paw over Honey.
“Don’t worry, she’s coming. I don’t know how I’m gonna carry you all but.”
He wondered if he could do as kangaroos do and carry the pups in his bag like a pouch. He put his hat and vest on, transferred all his bits and pieces into the many pockets of his shorts and then squeezed the boys into the bag. There was no room for Honey. He didn’t mind, he wanted to carry her anyway. He dunked her one last time, grabbed his spears and then hobbled off with far more babies poking their heads out of his pouch than any self–respecting kangaroo should have to bear.
He headed in the general direction of the peak, creek–hopping for a good hour before coming upon an isolated meadow with good protection from the wind. He really wanted to reach the peak and the possibility of an overhang, or maybe even a cave, but the storm was threatening to burst at any moment. He didn’t want to take the chance of being stuck out in the open without a shelter so he decided to stop and make one.
He lay Honey down and drizzled water into her mouth. Suddenly she coughed and spluttered and woke up. Billy couldn’t believe it. He was ecstatic. He quickly took off his hat and put his bag on the ground beside her so the boys could crawl out and greet her. They were really excited too, licking her face enthusiastically and nudging her into life. She could do little more than look around.
He gave her another drink and this time, she lapped at the drips thirstily, filling him with hope. He dunked her in the creek again, desperate to keep her cool, but then she started shivering. She’d already cooled down and now the cold wind was chilling her. He panicked, thinking he’d done her harm. She’d already been through so much. He wanted to rub her down and dry her off, but with her being so weak, he was worried that it would be too much for her. He huddled the boys around her, unfolded his bag into the poncho and lay it over the top of them to keep them warm.
They settled down immediately.
He took the opportunity to get a fire going and build a shelter. It wasn’t much, just a lean–to really, however it protected them from the wind and would keep them dry from the imminent storm.
Just as he was finishing, he noticed something white out of the corner of his eye. His little mate with the intelligent tilt was watching him again. He’d stuck his head out from under the poncho. He wondered how he was going to tell them apart as they all looked exactly the same — all snow white with a little black nose and a tiny pink tongue. He wondered about their age and tried to compare them to dingo pups. Then he noticed that their skin wasn’t floppy like a puppies. In fact it was stretched tight over their lean pumped up muscles. He could even see a network of straining veins under their skin. Maybe they not puppies? Maybe they just small? A year old, maybe? That’s still young enough to train ‘em to hunt.
They were funny looking dogs — about the size of a Chihuahua with thin bones covered in sprint athlete type muscles, and a menacing Roman–nosed Bull terrier head. Despite looking sickly, they still looked like they were set to explode out of the blocks and tear your toes off at the finish line if you weren’t careful.
As Billy sat under the shelter and poked at the fire with a stick, the alarmist came over and put his head on Billy’s leg. Billy gave him a generous pat — it was nice to have a friend. He broke out the jerky and shared it with his little mate. He didn’t eat much though, closing his eyes and falling asleep instead. Billy thought it was a good idea too so he gathered the pups under the shelter and lay down with them, holding Honey up against his body, trying to get her warm. She was still shivering.
He woke in the early hours of the morning to the mournful howls of the boys.
Honey had died.
He cradled her in his arms as tears welled in his eyes. It surprised him how upset he was becoming. He didn’t fight it. He let it flow like a flood and it felt good. The boys howled along with him, all becoming one in their grief. An ancestral song of mourning emerged from deep within his soul. It was sorrowful and helped him bawl it out. His emotions ebbed and flowed and stalled and rushed and gained a life of their own as a long–standing harrowing energy inside him was finally released. Billy felt none of the pouring rain and penetrating winds. He lay back down, numb, and holding Honey close; mourning the loss of her life and his own life of longing for something he didn’t really understand.
A mum.
He woke on daybreak holding all four pups tight within his arms. The boys had snuggled in, needing to be held too. A powerful gust of waterlogged wind demanded his attention. This was more than his shelter could bear with no end in sight.
Billy dug a deep hole for Honey in the centre of their shelter and placed her lifeless body in the bottom. It upset everyone. He covered her with dirt and carefully protected her grave with river stones. The pups could do little more than watch and whimper, still too weak to do anything else.
Billy inspected the fireplace with deep concern for Honey’s spirit. He needed to send her spirit to her place of birth so she wouldn’t become lost, forever wandering in fear. A smoking ceremony would see her safe, but the fireplace was a pool of water and the rain was torrential. It was hopeless.
“Gotta move,” Billy said as much to himself as to Honey’s brothers.
He tried them with some jerky for breakfast but they weren’t interested. Neither was he.
“Maybe we find a cave, hey?” he tried to be bright about it but it was all too depressing. “Come on,” he said while loading them into his pouch. They didn’t complain — it was a good place for a sick pup to be. His poncho would have been perfect to wear in this weather for himself, but he didn’t begrudge the pups for even a second. His only thought was to keep them warm and dry.
“Look after her, Mum,” he said, stepping into the storm, the pups lost in their own cocoon of sorrow.
The storm was determined to wreak havoc on their day as violent outbursts probed for weakness amongst the withered limbs of the old folk of the forest. Chaos ensued with a, “CRACK” and a, “CRUNCH” as limb after limb was torn from its body, scattering all below in fear of their life. “THUD,” the curtain call of another widow–maker’s bid for glory — to feed her folk on the rotting remnants of another unsuspecting victim, oblivious to the dangers from above on a windy day in the bush.
A day of dodging death in a storm–filled bush left Billy physically and mentally exhausted. He knew the general direction of the peak however visibility was reduced to no more than a hundred metres at best. Finding his way had taken all day. By the time he reached the bottom of the cliff face, he and the pups were in dire need of a decent shelter. He knew there must be one up there somewhere or his mum wouldn’t have guided him here. If only he could find a way up.
Back and forth he walked the base until finally, he stumbled upon what seemed to be an ancient trail. It was hard to see, all overgrown with grass and weeds but he noticed stones piled unnaturally along its sides. He remembered watching Cobar kick stones to the side of the path when he was a toddler. He thought it was a game so as he got faster on his feet he’d race ahead to be the first to kick the stones away. He didn’t realise it until later that it was all a lesson in taking care of the young and old.
On one side of the path lay a craggy old rock wall with homes for all things small, on the other, a shear drop to the forest floor. Every twist, every turn revealing another twist, another turn in a trail trodden by many in a time before time was known. Higher and higher he climbed, every step enlivening his soul to the prospect of what lay ahead. Above the canopy now where spirits rest, a final twist, a final turn, a dry sandy floor.
****************************************************** Don't forget, please "Like" my Facebook page and "Share" these chapters with your friends to help me spread the word. Gary Taaffe (author page) https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gary-Taaffe/212091488802148?fref=ts
All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com
July 16, 2013
Chapter 17 TRASH AND TREASURE
It was only faint, but he was sure he heard whimpering. Desperate cries coming from deep within the pile of clothes. It terrified him. He tried to pinpoint the exact spot but it was impossible to hear with the crows and the seagulls in a bloodthirsty brawl over the loss of another brother. In desperation, he tore into the pile, hurling handfuls over his shoulder but progress was slow. He stopped to listen again. It sounded so weak. And intermittent, as if the caller had to rest.
A life was slipping away.
Billy panicked and dug with an urgency he’d never felt before. Shorts, shirts, dresses and hats. Bags and bags and bags of clothes ready for distribution. It was endless.
Finally, deep within the pile he hit something hard and hollow. It was a blue drum. A forty–four gallon plastic drum. He cleared the clothes around it and discovered what looked like a way in — a big lid. He pulled at the handle but no matter how hard he tried, it just wouldn’t come off. He didn’t know to unscrew it.
Then he heard another voice. There were two of them inside! And the second one sounded even weaker than the first.
In a panic, he stopped thinking about what he was doing and twisted the lid instead. It worked! It came loose quickly and unexpectedly, popping right off in his hand.
Steaming stale air rushed out.
At the bottom were four white pups.
They were soaking wet with sweat and opening their mouths wide with each intake of cool fresh air. The alarmist, a boy, was in the middle of a whimper and struggling to lift his head and look up. His eyes stared wide with fear when he saw his rescuer, so Billy took off his hat. The pup’s head fell back in relief.
There were another two boys, both trying to look at Billy but their eyes kept rolling into the back of their heads. There was a little girl too, smaller than the others.
She looked dead already.
He carefully reached in and pulled her out.
She hung limp and lifeless in his hand.
He felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
He blew into her mouth.
Nothing.
He listened for a heartbeat.
Still, nothing..
It was hard to hear at the tip so he blocked his other ear and tried again.
A heartbeat! He thought? He wasn’t sure but it was enough to give him hope.
Water.
He scooped up the other pups, juggling them in his arms while scrambling from the pile. He grabbed his shoulder bag and spears, and then ran like a waiter with too many plates for the signs of a creek he’d seen not too far away.
Low–lying scrub scratched at his skin so he shielded the pups and bolted for a line of green trees alive with birds. They scattered noisily as he burst through the bush and stumbled down the creek’s embankment. Clear ankle–deep water trickled around the roots of shady green trees. Billy lowered the pups into the cooling water gently, and felt their relief as he watched them exhale.
Except for the girl — she didn’t react at all.
He lay the boys along the water’s edge with their heads on the bank and got to work on the girl. He really liked her. She had soft features that tore at his heart.
“Come on, Honey.” He didn’t know why he called her Honey. He just liked having something to call her.
He noticed the strongest boy watching him so he reached over and gave him a pat on the head. It was the first time he’d patted a dog. He didn’t even know you could pat a dog. He just did it. And was rewarded with the wag of a tail. It was only the tip, but it was enough to tell him that he was friendly. Not wild and savage like the dogs of the bush — the dingos.
Cobar told him how Aboriginal tribes usually kept dingos for hunting, for warmth in winter and as a backup food source rather than starve to death if the hunting was particularly bad. However the clan never had any need of them as the Wollemi was full of game. It didn’t stop Billy wondering what it would be like to have one though.
He noticed the other boys coming back to life, looking around and getting their bearings. The alarmist gave them a lick, which excited them into licking him back and whimpering together. Billy lay Honey between them all, hoping they’d bring her around. They licked her face and howled in her ear. Still, she didn’t move. He drizzled water into her mouth and did the same for the boys. They lapped at it thirstily but even that tired them out so they lay their heads down to recover.
Billy knew how they were feeling, having suffered severe dehydration and heat stroke himself on one occasion. He was caught out in the open on a long journey between watering holes. He tried every trick he knew to find water but a scorching hot summer had turned every catchment into concrete. He couldn’t even squeeze a drop to drink from animal droppings. By the time he finally did find a trickle of a spring–fed creek, his head was pounding with the worst headache he had ever known. Not to mention how sick in the stomach and lethargic he felt. He crawled into the muddy wallow of a pig and lay there for two whole days. Recovering and hunting at the same time.
A cool gust of wind drew his attention from the plight of the pups to the sky. Dark storm clouds were moving in with flocks of birds flying low and fast in straight lines. He checked the ants. Sure enough, they were already hard at work building tall funnels around their holes to keep the water out. Some were even abandoning their holes altogether and climbing the trees.
“Bad storm coming, boys.” The alarmist looked at him as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. He was recovering well, Billy noticed. His ears stood tall and alert and he tilted his head inquisitively. “You smart little fella aren’t you?” Billy said with a pat. His whole tail wagged this time. “We gotta find shelter.”
Billy walked out of sight of the pups to climb a tree in search of a good spot to set up camp, however as soon as he disappeared from view, the alarmist panicked with urgent calls to come back. Billy did and gave him another pat to calm him down.
“It’s OK, I’m not gonna leave you.”
The pup didn’t seem convinced because he dragged himself over to Honey and howled in her ear again. The other boys did the same, sensing the urgency.
Billy checked her heartbeat again. It was still horribly weak, but it did seem stronger.
All the boys were watching him now when it suddenly hit him why they looked so familiar. Their tiny heads were an exact, yet immeasurably cuter version of the Roman–nosed Bull terrier in the back of the old man’s ute. That mongrel old man must have put them in the barrel to die! Billy couldn’t believe it — how anyone could be so cruel. Especially to such cute little dogs. He wanted to storm around and object to someone. To yell at the old man. To make him pay for such an abuse against nature. He wanted to tell Cobar. His father. All his family! To warn them about the whitefella who had done such a terrible thing.
“Ruff,” the alarmist barked with a concerned tilt of his head.
Billy jumped in surprise. All that really mattered at the moment was getting them better.
******************************************************
Don't forget, please "Like" my Facebook page and "Share" these chapters with your friends to help me spread the word. Gary Taaffe (author page) https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gary-Taaffe/212091488802148?fref=ts
All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com
A life was slipping away.
Billy panicked and dug with an urgency he’d never felt before. Shorts, shirts, dresses and hats. Bags and bags and bags of clothes ready for distribution. It was endless.
Finally, deep within the pile he hit something hard and hollow. It was a blue drum. A forty–four gallon plastic drum. He cleared the clothes around it and discovered what looked like a way in — a big lid. He pulled at the handle but no matter how hard he tried, it just wouldn’t come off. He didn’t know to unscrew it.
Then he heard another voice. There were two of them inside! And the second one sounded even weaker than the first.
In a panic, he stopped thinking about what he was doing and twisted the lid instead. It worked! It came loose quickly and unexpectedly, popping right off in his hand.
Steaming stale air rushed out.
At the bottom were four white pups.
They were soaking wet with sweat and opening their mouths wide with each intake of cool fresh air. The alarmist, a boy, was in the middle of a whimper and struggling to lift his head and look up. His eyes stared wide with fear when he saw his rescuer, so Billy took off his hat. The pup’s head fell back in relief.
There were another two boys, both trying to look at Billy but their eyes kept rolling into the back of their heads. There was a little girl too, smaller than the others.
She looked dead already.
He carefully reached in and pulled her out.
She hung limp and lifeless in his hand.
He felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
He blew into her mouth.
Nothing.
He listened for a heartbeat.
Still, nothing..
It was hard to hear at the tip so he blocked his other ear and tried again.
A heartbeat! He thought? He wasn’t sure but it was enough to give him hope.
Water.
He scooped up the other pups, juggling them in his arms while scrambling from the pile. He grabbed his shoulder bag and spears, and then ran like a waiter with too many plates for the signs of a creek he’d seen not too far away.
Low–lying scrub scratched at his skin so he shielded the pups and bolted for a line of green trees alive with birds. They scattered noisily as he burst through the bush and stumbled down the creek’s embankment. Clear ankle–deep water trickled around the roots of shady green trees. Billy lowered the pups into the cooling water gently, and felt their relief as he watched them exhale.
Except for the girl — she didn’t react at all.
He lay the boys along the water’s edge with their heads on the bank and got to work on the girl. He really liked her. She had soft features that tore at his heart.
“Come on, Honey.” He didn’t know why he called her Honey. He just liked having something to call her.
He noticed the strongest boy watching him so he reached over and gave him a pat on the head. It was the first time he’d patted a dog. He didn’t even know you could pat a dog. He just did it. And was rewarded with the wag of a tail. It was only the tip, but it was enough to tell him that he was friendly. Not wild and savage like the dogs of the bush — the dingos.
Cobar told him how Aboriginal tribes usually kept dingos for hunting, for warmth in winter and as a backup food source rather than starve to death if the hunting was particularly bad. However the clan never had any need of them as the Wollemi was full of game. It didn’t stop Billy wondering what it would be like to have one though.
He noticed the other boys coming back to life, looking around and getting their bearings. The alarmist gave them a lick, which excited them into licking him back and whimpering together. Billy lay Honey between them all, hoping they’d bring her around. They licked her face and howled in her ear. Still, she didn’t move. He drizzled water into her mouth and did the same for the boys. They lapped at it thirstily but even that tired them out so they lay their heads down to recover.
Billy knew how they were feeling, having suffered severe dehydration and heat stroke himself on one occasion. He was caught out in the open on a long journey between watering holes. He tried every trick he knew to find water but a scorching hot summer had turned every catchment into concrete. He couldn’t even squeeze a drop to drink from animal droppings. By the time he finally did find a trickle of a spring–fed creek, his head was pounding with the worst headache he had ever known. Not to mention how sick in the stomach and lethargic he felt. He crawled into the muddy wallow of a pig and lay there for two whole days. Recovering and hunting at the same time.
A cool gust of wind drew his attention from the plight of the pups to the sky. Dark storm clouds were moving in with flocks of birds flying low and fast in straight lines. He checked the ants. Sure enough, they were already hard at work building tall funnels around their holes to keep the water out. Some were even abandoning their holes altogether and climbing the trees.
“Bad storm coming, boys.” The alarmist looked at him as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. He was recovering well, Billy noticed. His ears stood tall and alert and he tilted his head inquisitively. “You smart little fella aren’t you?” Billy said with a pat. His whole tail wagged this time. “We gotta find shelter.”
Billy walked out of sight of the pups to climb a tree in search of a good spot to set up camp, however as soon as he disappeared from view, the alarmist panicked with urgent calls to come back. Billy did and gave him another pat to calm him down.
“It’s OK, I’m not gonna leave you.”
The pup didn’t seem convinced because he dragged himself over to Honey and howled in her ear again. The other boys did the same, sensing the urgency.
Billy checked her heartbeat again. It was still horribly weak, but it did seem stronger.
All the boys were watching him now when it suddenly hit him why they looked so familiar. Their tiny heads were an exact, yet immeasurably cuter version of the Roman–nosed Bull terrier in the back of the old man’s ute. That mongrel old man must have put them in the barrel to die! Billy couldn’t believe it — how anyone could be so cruel. Especially to such cute little dogs. He wanted to storm around and object to someone. To yell at the old man. To make him pay for such an abuse against nature. He wanted to tell Cobar. His father. All his family! To warn them about the whitefella who had done such a terrible thing.
“Ruff,” the alarmist barked with a concerned tilt of his head.
Billy jumped in surprise. All that really mattered at the moment was getting them better.
******************************************************
Don't forget, please "Like" my Facebook page and "Share" these chapters with your friends to help me spread the word. Gary Taaffe (author page) https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gary-Taaffe/212091488802148?fref=ts
All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com
May 27, 2013
NEW RELEASE! "THE ORPANAGE" book 6
Billy and Amber must save Larry from the dog catcher, with a shocking twist for Billy. A pursuit leads them into a creepy, rundown orphanage where they find themselves under attack by a savage pack. They fight to save the lives of many only to fall victim down the bowels of hell itself.
“Way beyond wonderful. A spine-tingling experience of anticipation. Fear and terror a plenty. I think it is the best so far.” Anne, Australia
“Plenty of laughs, as usual, love it. Great dialogue. The Bullie’s antics are hilarious.” Jack S, Australia
“Great ending.” Hermione, Australia
URBAN HUNTERS is laugh–out–loud, gut–churning, heart–wrenching storytelling at its best. Unlike anything you’ve ever read, in typical Taaffe fashion. Hilarious as usual. Always surprising. Wonderful!
Read an excerpt here: http://bit.ly/10YPSEK
Buy now here: www.BunyaPublishing.com
Please "Share" this new release with your friends :)
Follow me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Gary-T...
“Way beyond wonderful. A spine-tingling experience of anticipation. Fear and terror a plenty. I think it is the best so far.” Anne, Australia
“Plenty of laughs, as usual, love it. Great dialogue. The Bullie’s antics are hilarious.” Jack S, Australia
“Great ending.” Hermione, Australia
URBAN HUNTERS is laugh–out–loud, gut–churning, heart–wrenching storytelling at its best. Unlike anything you’ve ever read, in typical Taaffe fashion. Hilarious as usual. Always surprising. Wonderful!
Read an excerpt here: http://bit.ly/10YPSEK
Buy now here: www.BunyaPublishing.com
Please "Share" this new release with your friends :)
Follow me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Gary-T...
![[image error]](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qzQYXVgJ8M0/UezNxHKiJsI/AAAAAAAAAro/bx9DvxGXObA/s1600/W20%20RGB%20150d.jpg){kind=link}