The Spin Read Online Free Page B

spitfyre, which was struggling quickly to its feet.
    Here was a spitfyre, a real winged horse, only ten paces from him. He couldn’t miss this chance . . . He edged towards it, grinning like an idiot, trembling with wonder and excitement. If he could just have a moment to study it . . . if he could just stand close and get a really good look at its wings and head and everything, he would die happy.
    It was square on its feet now, shaking out its leathery wings and steadying itself. It was taller than a normal horse, its head towering above Stormy’s on a strong neck. Wings grew from the creature’s shoulders like some strange blue plant’s stem might curve and grow from the soil, then billowed out into beautiful pale-blue fan shapes with a fine tracery of darker sinews and veins. It turned large sapphire eyes on him and puffed smoke from its nostrils in short, angry snorts; spitfyres’ distant ancestors were dragons.
    Stormy inched a step nearer.
    The spitfyre tossed its head, flicking its dark blue mane from side to side, warning him to stay back. A tremor ran over its skin, rippling the short blue hair of its coat, making it shimmer violet, turquoise and midnight-blue. Warily, it pawed the ground with a blue hoof. Stormy drew closer, like iron filings to a magnet. He had read about spitfyres, had seen pictures of them, dreamed of them, but nothing had prepared him for the beauty or the wonder of the creature in the flesh.
    He held out his hand.
    â€˜I won’t hurt you,’ he said. ‘I’m your friend.’ He saw the expression soften in the spitfyre’s eyes; it was listening and understanding. He could only use the same words he might with old Sponge or an ordinary horse.
    â€˜Good boy. Good boy. I just want to stroke you. Good chap. Well done.’
    The winged horse lifted its head and continued to stare at him.
    â€˜You are so majestic,’ Stormy said. ‘You are wonderful, wonderful . . .’
    Now he was almost close enough to reach out and put his hand on its neck. He raised his arm slowly, feeling the heat that oozed out from the animal as if it had a furnace inside it. ‘You’re fantastic,’ he whispered. ‘I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’ He reached towards the spitfyre and it lowered its head towards him, puffing out smoke gently. ‘I just want to –’
    â€˜Bluey, stop! Hey!’
    The winged horse jerked its head up and lurched backwards with a harsh throaty neigh. Stormy spun round. The sky-rider was scrambling to his feet, and tugging off his black helmet and goggles. Only it wasn’t a he; it was a she. As the helmet came off, a long plait of dark hair, woven with white and red ribbon, snaked over her shoulder. She rubbed at her bruised head. She was tall and strong, and crossing the gap between them in three quick strides she jabbed a finger at Stormy.
    â€˜Don’t you dare touch him, orphan boy! Bluey! Down!’ she roared. ‘Down!’
    The glimmer of friendliness died in the spitfyre’s eyes. It belched out a cloud of black smoke and tossed its head, rattling and clinking the metal bridle.
    â€˜
Down!
’ the sky-rider shouted.
    The spitfyre folded its front legs and sank down onto the earth so that the girl could step up from a rock onto its back.
    â€˜What exactly did you think you were you doing, boy?’
    She was the most perfect girl he’d ever seen – not that he’d seen very many – with dark glittering eyes, high round cheeks and a narrow nose which tilted up at the end. She was older and taller than him; and, he knew instantly, cleverer and smarter.
    â€˜I like spitfyres,’ he said with a shrug.
    Her dark eyes flashed furiously. ‘What do you know of them? You’re nothing. You can’t touch a spitfyre!’
    â€˜I’m sorry. I was just –’
    â€˜You better just nothing. What are you, anyway? One of