Young Writers Society

James stared at the package in his hands; he never got mail, he was a slave.

"C'm' 'ere boy! Every secon' that passes will be anotha whip for ye." Mr. Banks, the slave master, lashed his whip on the wall outside as a threat. But James didn't care.

He spun the rough box in his hands, surveying each and every side thoroughly. Thinking again he shook his head and started to tear off the top.

"I'm warnin' ye boy!"

Finally the top gave way and James was able to see what was inside, or rather, what wasn't. All there was to see was a mysterious, swirling mass of a mixture of dark purple, black and dark blue.

"I'm comin' fo' ya boy!" Mr. Banks burst down the door, lashing out at the boy. But only he was too late. All that was left was a blank room and a small box, with a swirling blackness. "HEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!" And then there was nothing.

James looked around at the ten spears being pointed at him. Terrified, he crouched down and let his tail hang loo- his tail? He blinked furiously, stared at his hands and feet which had strangely transformed to paws. He patted down his fur, slowly getting a feel for it. To his horror when he looked at his reflection in one of the spears, he realised the truth: he was a ferret.

A big fox, on two feet, leaped out of the bushes and placing his glinting long sword under James' chin. "I be Ringal! Oh I'm sure you know that, you do don't you." Ringal gasped at James' shaking head. "Ye don't know me? Ringal, feared bandit of these here lands? Well let me ask ye a question, who be ye?"