By Kit Berry
Sylvie is loss of life. A sufferer of crippling asthma, poisoned by means of the pollutants and chemical substances of recent existence, Sylvie is trapped in a health facility mattress. there is an alternate group hidden away in a nook of Dorset. If their chief may allow Sylvie stopover at, then possibly the fresh air and eco-friendly way of life could repair her energy.
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I want you to go walking every day, Sylvie, whatever the weather. Drink in the fresh air and get your limbs moving. You’re very weak and you’ve wasted away to nothing.
The silver moon danced over the landscape and glinted in the boy’s eyes. He gazed up at the dusty white rainbow arched across the black velvet sky; millions upon millions of sparkling stars, bright diamonds flung over the cloak of night. He sensed the movement of hares further down the hill. Creatures of the full moon, they gathered at this special stone every month and seemed to welcome his silent presence. He took a shuddering breath and touched his cheek. The cut had begun to heal, closing over into a thin scar that would mark him for life.
The building was very grand and they were ushered in by an immaculately groomed woman. Behind a mask of professional welcome, she hid any curiosity the bedraggled pair may have aroused. Magus’ office was luxurious and the man himself was a complete shock to both of them. Instead of the crusty old landed-gentry type in tweeds and brogues whom Sylvie had envisaged, or the bearded weirdo in ethnic clothing, crystals and sandals of Miranda’s imaginings, Magus was the most attractive man either of them had ever seen.