The Last Moon Dragon

PSA to idiots on the internet who think it's ok to plagiarise, this story has already been reposted once by a user on wattpad and I (OP / author) reported them immediately. Don't copy and paste other people's stuff. It's against the law. Think of your own idea before stealing an 11 year old's.

CAUTION: TWO YEAR OLD DRAFT VERSION. FULL OF SPELLING MISTAKES AND OTHER GRAMMATICAL ERRORS. "The kingdom of Heriven isn't exactly the best place to live. Ruled by a twisted King and a power-hungry Baron, the poor exist to serve the rich. Attacks from other kingdoms have finally ceased over hundreds of years, but only because of a bigger problem. Other places have infestations of lice and vermin, Heriven has dragons. Although there has not been a dragon sighted in the kingdom for over a decade, and the people are at ease, it won't be long before it all changes, and a legendary dragon shall make its reappearance...This was voted best Fantasy Movella 2012

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4. The Horseboy

Fletch darted through the square towards the pack of guards he had followed earlier, cursing under his breath. If he didn't catch up with them soon, he would be locked out of the castle for the night.

He moved swiftly through the crowds of villagers, pushing past people who wouldn't move. Fletch had inherited the talent of speed from his father, and used it often. He could run faster than a horse with it's tail on fire, and he knew it.

A few seconds later, he was walking discreetly behind the guards, trying to be as silent as possible. The guards, clad in scarlet and gold, were grumbling about Collection Day.

"He makes us carry all this money every month, and we don't - get - a - single - coin." muttered one of them, on the left of the group.

"Sometimes I just want to stab that bloody Baron so much-"

"I know. But you can't. There are traditional, rules, Mastiff. And "Thou Shalt Not Stabbeth The Baron" is one of 'em."

They all laughed heartily for a moment, but then their grumpy and tired expressions returned. No wonder, thought Fletch. It was a long, hard trek up the monstrous hill to the castle. He was getting pretty out of breath himself; he could only go fast on a flat landscape.

When, at last, they reached the gatehouse, Fletch slipped right between the guards, therefore getting rather squished. But the guards were so tall, they would only see him if they looked directly downwards, and the were so heavily covered in golden armour, there was no possibility of them feeling his presence.

As the portcullis went up, and theguards trouped inside, one of their leather bags, filled with metal coins, thumped heavily against Fletch's leg. He bit his tounge hard to stop himself yelling in pain, and jumped from the group, into the wide saftey of the bailey.

He ran, almost flew, to the stables, where he knew his father would be. When he reached them, he collapsed against a wooden post, holding his leg and groaning. His favourite horse, Zell, nuzzled his neck affectionately. She was chestnut brown, with a thick glossy coat and a perfect wavy mane. Fletch would never get to ride her, of course; she was the Baron's top horse.

His father popped out from behind the stables, and dropped a huge pile of fresh hay by Fletch's feet.

"'ere," he said. "Put that in Zell's stall, would you? What's with all this groaning, eh? You get bitten by one of them beggar kids? Rabid, they are. Rabid."

Despite the pain, Fletch laughed. "No," he said, "I got hit in the leg by a bag of gold."

"As you do when you're my son." replied his father, with a roll of his eyes. "Get a shift on, boy. Just you remember who's coming to dine at the castle tonight."

"So, the King's going to be visiting the stables and inspecting the standard of the hay?" said Fletch, sarcastically.

"You never know," said his father, grinning. "The man's not exactly right in the head,"

"What do you mean?" asked Fletch interestedly.

"Never you mind." said his father. "Just change the hay."

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