The Unraveling Format: Paperback

"Even the smallest spark can set the darkest night ablaze."

Twig never imagined himself at the center of anything important—let alone a battle for the fate of the Woodland Realm. But when his peaceful village is attacked by the ruthless Fortress Crows, the young chickadee finds himself on the run, hunted by a terrifying sorceress and her winged army. Thankfully, he’s not alone. Alongside a cunning bard, a fearless warrior, and two mischievous tumblers—who cause almost as much trouble as they solve—Twig embarks on a journey to uncover an ancient power and prevent history from repeating its darkest (and dumbest) mistakes.

Perfect for fans of Watership Down, Redwall, and The Green Ember, The Unraveling is a sweeping middle-grade fantasy adventure of courage, rebellion, and destiny. With pulse-pounding action, unforgettable characters, and a world as rich as it is dangerous, this is a story for anyone who believes even the smallest hero can change the world.

1

The Scarecrow in the Storm

Jagged branches of lightning flashed through the

rolling clouds as the storm’s fury broke over the forest.

Crashes of thunder rumbled like waves churning the night

sky. A motley flock of warblers, chickadees, and sparrows

fought the swirling winds to stay aloft. Their migratory v

broke and reformed against the shrieking gale.

“Hold together!” the lead warbler shouted.

A small black-capped chickadee struggled through

cloud and mist to maintain his place at the end of the col-

umn.

“Twig, keep up!” A sparrow encouraged.

Rain soaked Twig’s feathers, his tired wings battled

the turbulent air. His eyes were wild with distress and ter-

ror, but the storm was not what worried him most.

The sound of crows drew nearer.

The flock’s hasty escape began when marauding

Fortress Crows attacked The Agrestic. The sudden crow

raid on their village sent the town’s survivors careening into

the sky

“Kill them all!” General Traeton commanded.

Like wraiths in a fog The Fortress Crows obeyed.

They cut through the air and scattered their quarry.

The warbler commanded the flock, “Regroup at the

rendezv...,” but before he could finish his thought, cruel crow

talons constricted around him, and with his final breath he

gasped, “Fly, for your lives.”

The flock dissipated in all directions.

Twig screeched as three spear-wielding crows dove

toward him. He banked left and out of their grasp
.

“He’s the one she wants,” General Traeton roared,

“Seize him!”

Twig’s pursuers fell through the ceiling of clouds

after him.

He pulled up hard as the earth rushed toward him;

his wings strained as his belly bristled the tree-tops. He

twisted through the branches. The spear-tips of the ensuing

crows were only a few breaths behind him. Twig banked his

way between trees, around boulders, over and under fallen

logs, until he flew into the dark thorny vines of a merciless

briar.

The crows pursued him against logic; they cawed in

pain as angry barbs tore at their feathers. The much small-

er Twig weaved his way through the tangle and was nearly

free when General Traeton cornered him. Traeton was mas-

sive, a battle ax strapped to his back. He wore a chestplate

of metal and bark-leather. On his left ankle there was a small

metal tag with strange markings. Over his right eye he wore

a patch; a crimson gem burned in its center.

Twig gasped.

Traeton cawed angrily, malice running through his

veins, “The queen requires your presence,” Traeton said

with grim authority. The General reached out to pluck the

chickadee from the briar, but Twig instinctually pecked his

wing.

Not deterred, Traeton forced his head into the briar,

thorny vines snapping around his bulky head.

Twig was trapped.

Traeton struck at Twig with his beak, but the chick-

adee was quick enough to make his aggressor miss. Traeton

struck again, breaking the branch upon which Twig stood.

He fluttered above a gap in the briar, and Traeton jabbed at

him again, this time piercing Twig’s wing. Twig squealed,

his pain rang its report as he tumbled through the brambles.

Twig hit the ground with a sickening thud.

From above General Traeton and The Fortress

Crows struggled to break through the briar. The little bird

winced in pain, but he saw a sliver of light through the dense

thorn bush. He forced himself to his claws as his attackers

tunneled nearer.

“Don’t let him escape!” Traeton roared over the

storm.

Twig stepped out of the tangles. His wing was hurt,

but he could fly. A gust of wind swept him far and away from

the entangled crows.

“Find him!” Traeton exploded.

The caws of The Fortress Crows multiplied, desper-

ate to appease their general.

Twig reeled over trees and dells until he was car-

ried above a vast field of shivering wheat. At the summit of

a hill, he saw a tattered artifact from an earlier age. Fray-

ing strands of the scarecrow’s brown jacket snapped in the

wind. The weather-beaten brim and tip of its conical hat

were bent back by the storm. Dark lifeless eyes stared out

of its leering face, rows of triangular teeth filled its mania-

cal grin. Beak over claw the little bird tumbled toward the

scarecrow that listed to its left atop the hill. Twig’s cry was

cut short when he crashed harmlessly into the thread bare

stitches of the scarecrow’s burlap mouth.

Raindrops boiled on the surface of a reflecting-pond

at the foot of the hill. Twig regained his bearings. The face

of the scarecrow pulled a trickle of fear up his spine, and he

slowly backed down the wooden stem of the corn-cob-pipe.

Twig thought he heard a voice and took cover in

the bowl of the pipe. He cautiously peeked out to see if his

pursuers followed him, but he seemed to be alone. Slowly,

he emerged from the pipe and crept forward when again he

thought he heard a voice. He peered into the scarecrow’s

eye, and to his surprise a smaller eye blinked from within.

Startled, Twig lept back. He watched and the eye watched

him back, a dance of glances. The rain fell, and the wind

groaned as a voice boomed out of the scarecrow’s unmov-

ing mouth.

“Who visits us on such a dreadful night?” the scare-

crow demanded.

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