18 July 2014

More Friday Freebits from Tricia McGill


Mystic Mountains is a story of courage and persistence-traits that were essential for the settlers who carved out a new life in a raw land where suffering and heartbreak were commonplace.

My six paragraphs are taken this week from 
Mystic Mountains-Book 1 in  my Settlers series
Book 2 Distant Mountains coming soon from Books We Love.

In this segment our settlers are crossing the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. In the early days it was a treacherous route and some travelers lost their lives in their search for greener pastures.

Then they came to Mount York. 

Everybody knew its reputation and had been speaking of it in awed whispers over the previous evening's meal. A brooding quiet now crept over them as Tiger brought Satan up and handed Tim, who'd been riding with him, over to Isabella.

Johnny grimaced, scratching at his head, as Tiger rode off to speak to the driver of the leading wagon. The valley coming up to what was commonly called The Big Hill was awful, the road hidden from view amid the trees. 

Small trees had to be lopped to wedge behind the wheels of the drays and wagons to stop them slipping backwards. It was grueling work. When they got to the top they had to reverse the order, chaining logs behind to stop them from sliding forwards.

            "The other slopes were nothing compared to this," Isabella whispered, a hand to her throat, as she, Thelma and Agnes stared wide-eyed and fearful at the steep drop before them. The animals that had already been taken over couldn't be seen at the bottom, about a mile away. 

"Tiger says we're about four thousand feet above the sea." Thelma was having trouble drawing each breath and her face was so grey it scared Isabella as much as the road they must descend.

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  1. Great six, Tricia. Love the premise of the story. Wish I had much more time for reading, but I'm working on two WIPs that need to get finished. Yikes!

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  3. You show how difficult travel across alien continents could be, Tricia. I don't even like to look down a steep ski slope when I can see a curve in the hill below me but not where the rest of the hill goes. I can't imagine that while guiding a hulking, heavy wagon.

  4. Hi Tricia,
    Great snippet.