When Juniper's disobedience puts himself and his friend Oak in terrible danger, their friendship is tested to the limits. 'Juniper dragged himself painfully across the scrubby grass. When he could no longer crawl he lay down. Sweat trickled from his body and his broken leg ached. It was icy, much colder than in the valley. soon Sungod would be up, and he remembered what old Hornbeam had said to him when he was very small. It was as if the old wise man was beside him, whispering in his ear: 'If your father exiles you for making marks you must follow Sungod along the unknown river. You must find your other family'.' Juniper has always been one to ask questions, to take risks. And he has always made marks - in sand at the water's edge, in mud after rain, or with pieces of stick and stone. He cannot stop himself, though he knows it is strictly forbidden. 'I can't help it' he tells his friend, Oak. It is his disobedience which puts both Juniper and Oak in terrible danger, and tests their friendship to the limits.

 

‘We’re going to explore caves,’ said Owen, dumping his haversack in the middle of his grandfather’s threadbare carpet. ‘Goat’s Hole, Devil’s Hole, Crow Hole, Spritsail Tor, all the Gower caves, Grandad. We think there’s more there than meets the eye.’ ‘Do you now?’ There was a sudden liveliness in the old man’s blue eyes. ‘Well, I can tell you quite a bit about the caves, and not just in the Gower. You should travel all over, like I did. Further west you come to Hoyle’s Mouth and Coygan cave, and up north, there’s Cefn. And others, that no one knows about.’ His expression became dreamy and lost as if he was no longer sitting in a small, dingy living room in a terrace house in down town Cardiff, surrounded by students and cheap eating houses and cats. As if he was somewhere so compelling and vast it drove him to silence for a few minutes. Owen looked at his grandfather with compassion. Dad was right. He shouldn’t be living here on his own. ‘Obstinate,’ Mum had said. ‘It’ll take more than the Welfare to move him.’ The old man opened his blue eyes and looked straight at his grandson. ‘I don’t just live here,’ he said, as if he had read Owen’s thoughts. He tapped his head. ‘I live here. Such things I’ve seen, such sights.’ He shifted towards the small, dingy kitchen. ‘It’s like that when you live on your own,’ he said, half to himself. ‘But I like it, do you see? Not like some, always on the move.’ He put on the kettle. ‘Well, it’s natural when you’re young, isn’t it? Especially when you consider our ancestors.’ Owen moved into the small kitchen and watched his grandfather make the tea. ‘I thought the Morgans had lived here for ages!’ ‘And so they did,’ said Grandad, pouring the hot water into a white cracked teapot, ‘until your father took it into his head to go away. No, no, boy, I’m talking about our long-ago ancestors. The ones who lived in the caves. Who live in my head.’ ‘Tell me about them, Grandad.’ ‘No one believes me nowadays,’ the old man grumbled. He picked up a mug and rubbed it with a dirty tea towel. Owen could see the going might be difficult. ‘I live in Croydon,’ he said gently, ‘and I have an English accent, but I see things in my head too.’ ‘Do you now? It’s more than your father did. Else he wouldn’t have gone to live in England, would he now?’ ‘I see all sorts of things in my head,’ said Owen persistently. ‘That’s why I’m off to Swansea in the autumn to study art. You have to see things in your head if you’re going to paint.’ ‘You seem like a painter with all that hair,’ said his grandfather, surprisingly cheerful again. Owen took off the cap that he had been wearing back to front over his long black hair. He had an earring in one ear and looked as if he needed a shave. ‘Dad doesn’t like the look of me either,’ he said with a smile. ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ said Grandad. ‘Come to think of it, you look just as they did.’ ‘Who do you mean?’ ‘Your ancestors from a long time ago. They mostly looked like you.’ Grandad poured the tea carefully and handed Owen a mug. They went back into the living room and sat opposite each in the dowdy armchairs. The prehistoric look, thought Owen, Mum would like that one! But a smile might offend his grandfather.

 

 

 

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