Wild Dark Shore Book PDF Free by Charlotte McConaghy

“What kind of house?” “Just a house. My sisters helped a bit, but mostly I did it myself. It took a long time, a lot of years. It had a garden.” I stop, because I don’t know how to talk about this garden, or really this house either. My life. “Where was it?” he asks,…

Nuyina is due to collect us, and the seeds, in about seven weeks. “I found the boat,” I tell them, to change the subject. “It wrecked?” Raff asks. I nod. “Where?” Fen is quick, she adds, “Did the Drift take it?” Another nod. “Then we won’t get to it,” Raff says. “Probably not.” “But the…

With no warning at all there is a man in the tiny bathroom with me. We stare at each other, shocked by the other’s presence. I have seen this man before, I think I have dreamed of him. As he takes in the state of me his expression changes. There are no clothes but the…

At the whim of my curiosity now, I get up and poke my head into the storeroom. It is long and dark and cool. There are dozens of shelves holding containers of dry goods. Someone has labeled and measured everything: a container of flour has a line for every week marked across six months. Every…

I lift my head to look him in the face. His eyes, which I thought were dark brown, are actually a greenish gray; I can see them in the light from the window. A sense of danger prickles my skin. All my life I have had more than a healthy dose of fear working at…

Rowan When my mother found out she was dying, she did not book plane tickets to travel the world. She didn’t plan retreats to day spas or buy concert tickets. She didn’t sell her things with abandon and move to a remote location, nor did she contact past loves or old friends. She didn’t write…

Rowan I have hated my mother for most of my life but it is her face I see as I drown. The face I see when I wake from drowning is different. It is rough and wind-bitten and scratchy. It is what I’m looking at when the sudden arrival of pain overcomes me, and I…

“Not on this one, mate.” The woman mutters something under her breath and even though she is not dead, there is something unnatural about it. A corpse reanimated. Her hand, the long fingers of it, clench once into a fist, then relax. “Don’t get too tied up in it,” I tell Orly. “In what?” “In…

The story of this particular dandelion is a good one: you will want to pay attention. It starts its life in an apple orchard in North America, let’s say Wisconsin. It nearly gets trodden on so many times, but luck is on its side. Because it bursts to life early in spring, much earlier than…

He trots out. I take a look around the cramped and crooked room. Low ceilings with heavy wooden beams. Stone walls and floor. A thick wool rug, wardrobe and bookcase both full to bursting. The window is small, the sky too glary for me to see anything and after a glance I don’t want to,…