It was only his first term at School. The Child was homesick and miserable at first, but he was only seven. He hated the noise and bustle, and the strangeness of it all. He missed his mother and his sisters, and home seemed so very far away. Be a brave chap, his father had said, and he tried his best to fit in, and did not mention his unhappiness in his letters to his mother. Continue reading “The Tiger: March Short Story Competition”
Boadicea's Chariot 