Franz Marc Tiger

Franz Marc TigerFranz Marc StablesFranz Marc Foxes
said the dust was afraid of it! Can you imagine?"
"Yes," saidwindows and stared out over the city. She was feeling angrier than usual, so the broom attacked the dust with unusual vigour. Spiders ran desperate eight-legged dashes for safety as ancestral cobwebs disappeared into the void. In the walls mice clung to each other, legs braced against the inside of their holes. Woodworm scrabbled in the ceiling beams as they were drawn, inexorably, backwards down their tunnels. Granny. Mrs Whitlow pushed her teacup towards her and gave her an embarrassed smile. Granny sighed inwardly and squinted into the none-too-clean depths of the future. She was definitely beginning to run out of imagination. The broom whisked down the corridor raising a great cloud of dust which, if you looked hard at it, seemed somehow to be sucked back into the broomstick. If you looked even harder you'd see that the broom handle had strange markings on it, which were not so much carved as clinging and somehow changed shape as you watched. But no one looked. Esk sat at one of the high deep