Beyond the Deepwoods by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell Page A

driven the creature crazy. He struggled to his feet and tried to slip away before the beast could turn its fury on him…
    But he was already too late. The banderbear had caught sight of him out of the corner of its eye. It swung round. It tossed aside an uprooted sapling. ‘WUH!’ it bellowed and bounded towards him, all wild eyes and glinting teeth.
    ‘No,’ Twig whispered, terrified that he was about to be torn limb from limb.
    The next instant the banderbear was upon him. He felt its massive arms wrapping themselves around his body and smelled the musty odour of mossy fur as he was crushed against the creature's belly.
    And there the two of them remained. Boy and banderbear, hugging each other gratefully in the dappled light of the Deepwoods afternoon.
    ‘Wuh-wuh,’ said the banderbear at last, and loosed its arms. It pointed inside its mouth and scratched its head questioningly.
    ‘Your tooth?’ said Twig. ‘I've got it here,’ and he held it out to the banderbear on the palm of his hand.

    Delicately for one so immense, the banderbear took the tooth and wiped it on its fur. Then it held it up to the light so that Twig could see the hole which had been eaten right the way through. ‘Wuh,’ it said, and touched the amulets around Twig's neck. It handed the tooth back.
    ‘You want me to wear it round my neck?’ said Twig.
    ‘Wuh,’ said the banderbear. ‘Wuh-wuh.’
    ‘For good luck,’ said Twig.
    The banderbear nodded. And when Twig had slipped it onto the thong with Spelda's lucky charms it nodded again, satisfied.
    Twig smiled. ‘Feel better now?’ he said.
    The banderbear nodded solemnly. Then it touched its chest and extended its arm towards Twig.
    ‘Is there something you can do for me in return?’ said Twig. ‘Not half! I'm starving,’ he said. ‘Food, food,’ he added, and patted his stomach.
    The banderbear looked puzzled. ‘Wuh!’ it grunted, and swung its arm round in a wide arc.
    ‘But I don't know what's safe to eat,’ Twig explained. ‘Good? Bad?’ he said, pointing to different fruits.
    The banderbear beckoned, and led him across to a tall bell-shaped tree with pale green leaves and bright red fruit, so ripe it was dripping. Twig licked his lips greedily. The banderbear reached up, plucked a single piece of fruit in its claws and held it out for Twig.
    ‘Wuh,’ it grunted insistently, and patted its own stomach. The fruit was good; Twig should eat.
    Twig took the fruit and bit into it. It was more than good. It was delicious! Sweet, succulent and with a hint of woodginger. When it was gone, he turned to the banderbear and patted his stomach again. ‘More,’ he said.
    ‘Wuh,’ grinned the banderbear.
    *
    They made an odd couple – the furry mountain and the stick boy – and occasionally Twig would ask himself why the banderbear stuck round. After all, it was so big and strong, and knew so much about the secrets of the Deepwoods that it didn't need Twig.
    Maybe it, too, had felt lonely. Maybe it was grateful to him for pulling out the aching tooth. Or maybe it was simply that the banderbear liked him. Twig hoped so. Certainly he liked the banderbear – he liked him more than anyone he had ever known. More than Taghair. More than Gristle. More even than Hoddergruff, when the two had still been friends. How far away and long ago his life with the woodtrolls seemed.
    Twig realized that by now cousin Snetterbark must have sent word that he hadn't arrived. What must they be thinking? He knew what Tuntum's gruff response would be. ‘Strayed from the path,’ he could hear his father saying. ‘Always knew he would. He was never a woodtroll. His mother was too soft on him.’
    Twig sighed. Poor Spelda. He could see her face, wet with tears. ‘I told him,’ she would weep. ‘I told him to stay on the path. We loved him like one of our own.’
    But Twig wasn't truly one of theirs. He didn't belong – not with the woodtrolls, nor with the slaughterers and certainly not in