“Danny! Grab your gear; we’ve got to go!”
D anny opened one eye to glare at the alarm clock. Wincing at the time he shifted his eye to the window. “Stll drk out,” he mumbled, half into his pillow.
His father, though, was relentless and returned a moment later to bang on the door. “Come on. The fish aren’t going to catch themselves.” Danny heard his parents, Vincent and Shannon Lynton, out in the front yard loading up the car. With a sigh he rolled out of bed and dressed quickly.
Knowing his father’s penchant for early starts, Danny had packed his bag last night. Within a few minutes he stumbled down the stairs and into the large farmhouse kitchen.
His mom turned from filling coffee mugs to smile at him. Danny frowned suspiciously as he took in her still-sloppy pony tail and fleece pajamas. “Hey,” he said, accepting the soda she handed him, “Why doesn’t mom have to get dressed?”
B ecky Sasala writes the stories that the voices in her head demand be told. While she tends to focus on speculative fiction for both adults and young adults, Becky has written non-fiction, poetry, as well as other genre fiction.
When not writing she can be found researching material for her historical reenactment ventures, volunteering with her son’s Boy Scout troop or with a local pet rescue.
She lives in Central North Carolina with her husband, son, mother, nine dogs, three cats, a flock of chickens, and two hives of bees. The partridge in the pear tree passed last year.