The
Tale of the Island Minwings, which was launched on May 26th, 2012, is
a beautifully-illustrated story written by Karen Slater, for children aged eight to twelve, or for anyone who still has a child within their heart.
"Imagine
for a moment that you can fly – high above the blue waters of the
Gulf of St. Lawrence – to the north shore of Prince Edward Island.
You’ll spy the sea-worn breakwater jutting into the white-crested
waves at the end of the Cavendish sand dunes. Seagulls, looking for
their next meal, dip and dive in the wake of a lobster fishing boat
headed into the harbour. Gently rolling fields, in a wide array of
greens, yellows and reds, stretch up from the brick-red cliffs of
sandstone which guard the shores of New London Bay.
Here,
in a sheltered cove, you’ll find a small woods. In this woods near
a rippling stream, lives one of the last remaining colonies of a most
wonderful race, the Minwing. A Minwing you say? Well, most humans
have never even heard of, let alone seen, one of these tiny,
fairy-like creatures, for Minwings are very shy and try to avoid
being found. Perhaps a child or two has met one but somehow
forgotten. More than likely their unbelieving parents have convinced
them that it was just a figment of their imagination!
If
you take a stroll through this woods, and you are very quiet and
extremely fortunate, you
may see Shasta emerge from the dappled shade of a poplar. She flies
to an oak tree on the edge of a small clearing and lands on a sturdy
branch. Folding her delicate pale-green wings and tucking in a wisp
of her bright red hair that has escaped from her hood, she takes a
moment to catch her breath. She feels safe, knowing that her cloak
camouflages perfectly into her surroundings.
Closing
her eyes, Shasta allows the muted sounds of the woods to lull her
mind into a rare state of relaxation.
Ahhhhh! The
wind is soft and the air is sweet."
~~~~~~~~~
A
lot of people ask me, “When did you decide to write a book?” I
tell them, “I didn't decide. My book decided that I would
write it.” One night, about four years ago I woke up and had the beginning of the story in my head. Lucky for
me, I found a pen and paper and wrote it down. In the morning I read
over what I had written and was surprised by how good it sounded.
This continued for many nights after that. Each time I added to the
story I was excited to think that I was actually writing a book!
But
it wasn't always that easy. There were times when I had no idea what
to write next. That's when I got help from my friends and family.
Their ideas and suggestions got me going again. During that winter my
life was literally taken over by Minwings. I was determined to
finish the story!
When the story was complete I felt that it should have illustrations. I am an artist but human form has never been my strong point. While visiting my daughter in Halifax I was fortunate enough to be shown a sketchbook of one of her friends, illustrator Sydney Smith, who received his BFA from NSCAD (Nova Scotia College of Art and Design). As soon as I saw his work, especially his pen and ink, I knew that I wanted him to illustrate my book. His ability to interpret description into visual art and his amazing attention to detail add exactly the right touch to my Minwing story.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nimbra, Shasta's papa, meets Munroe in
Chapter 5.
It
is at one of these stops that Nimbra sits down to have a rest between
the large roots of an old maple tree. He looks up through the thick
branches at the full moon. “What a wonderful sight,” he
whispers.
A
dark shape flies across the moon’s face. Quickly Nimbra flattens
himself against the tree, stuffs his tri-lite under his cloak and
strains his tired eyes into the distance.
What
was that? He sits quietly for a few
moments and stares, unblinking, at the moon.
Nothing. I must have been imagining things.
Warily he gets up and continues on his way. Just as he steps out of
the woods into an open meadow, the unmistakable call of a shrike
breaks the silence. Nimbra knows for sure that the bird is swooping
in for the kill. And he is the target! He has only a moment to
decide what to do. He can just make out the shape of a hollow log in
the long grass. Without pause he flies to the opening and dives in.
The flap of wings close behind him proves that he has made the right
decision.
Cowering
in the darkness and shaking from head to toe, Nimbra takes deep
breaths of the damp air. “You’re all right,” he whispers. “Calm
down.” His heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest.
Still
feeling more exposed than he wants to be, he squeezes back further
into the musty log. A high-pitched “squeak” pierces the air.
Nimbra jumps in fright – as much as one can jump inside a log.
“Ouch!” he says, as his head makes contact with the rough wood.
“Get
off my foot!” squeaks a
voice.
“Who’s
there?” asks Nimbra, stepping back and squinting into the darkness.
“Who
wants to know?” the voice threatens.
“I
warn you. You’ll not take me easily,” cautions Nimbra, preparing
himself for a fight.
“Don’t
worry. I’m not going to eat you,” laughs the voice.
“That’s
a relief,” answers Nimbra, “I couldn’t handle the possibility
of being someone’s future dinner for the second time in one night.”
He manages to remove the tri-lite from his cloak and shines it in
front of him. There, squished into a crevice, sits a young, but
confident, grey field mouse, shielding his eyes with his foot.
“Get
rid of the light, if you please. It’s hurting my eyes! I’ve had
a hard enough time as it is evading that stubborn shrike, without
having to put up with the likes of you, that’s what!”
“Sorry,”
replies Nimbra, “but you startled me nearly to death.”
“I
might say the same thing, if I hadn’t already gone through my ten
lives in one hour,” grumbles the mouse. “I’m Munroe. My
friends call me Squeak . . . and you’re obviously one of those
cheeky Minwings.”
“I’m
Nimbra. I’m just returning from the bay-water after a hard night’s
work,” he says, puffing out his chest indignantly.
“Hm!
More likely you’ve been at Raspin’s, that’s what,” grumbles
the mouse, sniffing the air. “You positively reek of apple cider!
As if you could fool someone with MY sense of smell! Well, you might
as well settle in. That annoying creature is still out there.”
