Snow Foal. Susanna Bailey

      

       For my precious mum, Jean,

       who really could paint light

       on water.

      First published in Great Britain in 2019

      by Egmont UK Limited

      The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

      Text copyright © 2020 Susanna Bailey

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

      The moral rights of the author have been asserted

      First e-book edition 2019

      ISBN 978 1 4052 94935

      Ebook ISBN 978 1 4052 94942

       www.egmont.co.uk

      A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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      CONTENTS

       Cover

       Dedication

       Title Page

       Copyright

PROLOGUE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

       TWELVE

       THIRTEEN

       FOURTEEN

       FIFTEEN

       SIXTEEN

       SEVENTEEN

       EIGHTEEN

       NINETEEN

       TWENTY

       TWENTY-ONE

       TWENTY-TWO

       TWENTY-THREE

       TWENTY-FOUR

       TWENTY-FIVE

       TWENTY-SIX

       TWENTY-SEVEN

       TWENTY-EIGHT

       TWENTY-NINE

       THIRTY

       THIRTY-ONE

       THIRTY-TWO

       THIRTY-THREE

       THIRTY-FOUR

       THIRTY-FIVE

       THIRTY-SIX

       ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

       HELP AND SUPPORT FOR CHILDREN AFFECTED BY ANY OF THE ISSUES FEATURED IN THIS BOOK

       Everything around him was changed: white, shifting, silent. The wind had form now: it swirled around him, like feathers from the forest floor, hiding the sky. Hiding his mother.

       The foal sniffed the ground. That had changed, too. It clung to his muzzle. It stung.

       He smelled the air, seeking his mother’s warm, milky scent. He called. Listened. Called again. He thought he heard his mother’s voice lifting