The box he put my head in was just a little too big, and I rattled around in it dreadfully. If he had taken the time to crunch up the newspaper for packing material first, I might have had a bit more comfortable journey to Ampapumu. I can’t complain, though, as he cut out my tongue. That felt a little personal, to be honest. What about my rights to free speech? I can hear the bells of the pilgrims now, so we must be either on or about to be on the mountain. It will be good to go home.
The Necromancer’s Chair
Tale Told 