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“Don’t touch it!” I cried.

“Why not?” Chantelle asked.

“You don’t know what it does!”

“Look here, L, it just says ‘transport’!”

“Chantelle!” But it was too late.

- - - - - - - - -

“Oh well done, ELLETNAHC!” I said, knowing it annoys her when I say her name backwards.

“What the- ?”

I looked down at my body- or, what used to be my body.

“Oh brilliant,” I heard Chantelle’s voice. I snorted with laughter at what I saw – Chantelle was a... a... A COW!

“Oh – Em – Eff – Gee!” I laughed. “See? You got the worst of it!”
I had turned into some sort of bird.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Chantelle shouted.
“I was trying to- you didn’t let me!”

Chantelle realised it was her fault. “At least YOU aren’t a cow.”

“What sort of bird d’you suppose I am?” I asked.

“Uh, maybe a falcon or eagle or something,” she replied uncertainly.

“YESS, I always wanted to fly!” I exclaimed.

“Woohoo, good for you,” Chantelle said in a depressed voice. “All I am good for now is free milk.”
“Shh! I hear voices!” I hissed.

“We will stop soon.”

“Strider, there’s a cow there...” another voice said.
“Don’t be stupid how can a cow- ” but he noticed Chantelle too.

Chantelle panicked. “DON’T HURT ME, PLEASE!”

“It talks too...”

“Now, wait a moment! I am Chantelle, a SHE, not an IT,” she exclaimed in annoyance.
“Chantelle...” I warned her.
“Look there is a talking falcon too!”
“Brilliant,” I muttered.

“What type of sorcery did this?” the man asked.
I just realised who it was.

“Oh my effing goodness... it’s... it’s... ARAGORN?!”

“How do you know my name?” he asked, his voice suspicious and full of concern.
“Oh, never-mind...” I mumbled.

“How did you get voices?” he questioned.

“No, you see, we turned into animals. We are actually humans,” I answered sadly. “We had voices already.”

“What were you doing here in the first place?”
“Actually... we weren’t here. Chantelle just found this rock thingy that had a button saying ‘transport’ on it, and I told her not to press it, but she did, and now this happened.”

“Uh-huh,” said another man.
I had to urge myself not to scream ‘OMIGEE-LOOK-IT-IS-BOROMIR’.

Chantelle liked Lord of the Rings too, but not as much as me, and she was far too disgruntled at her new form that nothing really excited her.

“And who are you exactly?” Aragorn asked.
“Um, we are two human girls, thirteen years of age, named Chantelle and, well, just call me L.”

“Very well then. You are free to go.”
“What- No!” I cried. “I mean, um, couldn’t we go with you?”

“What use would that be?” Aragorn demanded.
“We could help you, like, um, I could fly and keep a look-out, and uhm...”
“Free milk from here too,” Chantelle chimed up dully.

“Fine. You can come.”

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