LITMIR.BIZ

      It had been Sparkler’s idea to train the insects, but somehow, he just didn’t seem to have the knack for it. Half the dragonflies on Darvell’s Pond had been retrained for hunting, racing or even formation flying, while his just sulked and turned its back on him. He regretted naming it now, obviously. Grunion’s one was known as ‘Blue Thunder’ and brought its master all sorts of delicious things for the oven. Wing had one she called ‘Lightning’ and even her father had managed to train one he called the ‘Yellow Peril’.

      Sparkler shook his head as he looked at young Wolfenstein. It wasn’t a great name, even with the hint of wolf in it. It certainly wasn’t a great name for a dragonfly that seemed to prefer being fed by hand and sleeping to any hunting at all.

      He had come across his secret one bright morning as he had been trying to get Wolfenstein to respond to whistle signals. Sparkler had seen a heavy lorry arrive in a cloud of dust and he ducked down in the long grass to watch. Wolfenstein stuck his head up in the air and Sparkler had to sit on him to keep him still.

      The lorry had stopped at the new Memorial Hall, its brakes squealing. Sparkler watched in fascination as a man smoking a pipe began to unload wooden boxes. It was too interesting to resist and Sparkler waited until the man went inside before nipping across and peering into a box. Books! Human books wrapped in twine! He had never seen so many before. In fact, he hadn’t known there were so many books in the world.

      He and Wolfie were back across the road in the long grass before the man returned to finish unloading. There were now old ladies in the hall. Sparkler could see them through the window. He couldn’t see their legs, which gave them the look of ships drifting back and forth. He wondered if they had been in the boxes, with the books. In all honesty, that didn’t seem likely, but he was too excited to think straight.

      Sparkler had avoided human books almost completely since the time he’d cured the High Tollin’s gout, but they still called to him. He’d seen them lurking on shelves in human houses, sometimes covered in dust and unloved. He’d wanted to take them home and show them affection and respect until their covers were bright and glossy again.