I know the chapters are short. I think reading loads of little ones is easier than a really big one.

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The carriage rattled over the moors. Each wheel and nut and bolt squealed in protest. The wind rattled the windows in their panes and whistled through the gaps. The horses never stopped braying and often they would rear up at something, causing the carriage to jerk forward suddenly and throw everyone onto the floor.

Sighing, I rolled over. The floor came up to meet my face with a lurch. Across the carriage, the evil looking man with the scars laughed through his two remaining blackened teeth and a jagged rip in his face I assumed was his mouth. I rubbed absently at my forehead and felt the migraine threatening to return

Gods, I hated that man.

We'd been traveling for days, and not once had I seen that man sleep. I don't pretend to be an expert on humans, but I'm pretty sure they need sleep at least once a week. They must've been paying him a lot for this. Not a single eyelid had drooped. It was inhuman.

The horses came to a stop again. The only other occupant, a young, bespectacled man, was catapulted out of his seat and onto the floor. He stumbled up; blearing eyed and confused, crashed his head on the roof and fell back into his seat with a little moan.

"Are-are we there yet?" he asked me.

This had absolutely no effect on me as I couldn't speak a word of human.

"He don't speak no English, fool."

What I had initially taken as a distant earthquake had infact been the scarred man talking for the first time. His face twisted and formed into a sort of disgusted scowl as, with a grunt of effort, he lifted himself up from his seat and stepped out. The hollow clunk of his wooden leg on the cobbles moved away, disappearing in the pitter patter of the rain.

The young man was still staring at me. He looked about twenty, with wispy, blonde hair and watery blue eyes that matched the rather large robe he was wearing. A uncertain smile was wavering on his face.

"Hello," he said, quite suddenly and loudly. "You're an elf, aren't you? I can tell by your ears." He reached up absently to his own ears, gestured to them wildly and said, loudly in the tone reserved for foreign or stupid people "Your ears! Your ears!"

There was a crash and the scarred man appeared again at the door.

"Drawbridge is down," he growled "Tidy yourself up, man. We're to see the King immediately."