Lou Heneghan was born a long time ago in a very small house on the edge of a deep, shadow-filled wood.
A childhood spent wandering through the trees, following pale lights and listening to the mournful voices that lurked there, did not endear Lou to the neighbours. Adults looked askance at the unusual child who would answer the phone before the first ring and knew which song would be played next on the radio. They did not like the child's knowing eyes or the conversations they half heard when Lou was alone in a room.
Keen to escape the whispers, Lou left as soon as possible to live in a far away town by the sea. Days pouring over dusty books and nights dreaming of ancient battles and noble quests convinced Lou that there was a tale that needed to be told.
Now living in a ramshackle house on the edge of the capital, Lou's front windows look out over shimmering spires and distant city towers. To the back of the house is a footpath that winds deep into the woods. At dusk, Lou often follows it into the promise-filled darkness of the trees.
Lou nods at black cats, salutes magpies and never, ever, walks under ladders.
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