'Wait, are you writing a diary? Really? At a time like this?'
Ondolemar gave a violent start and, snapping shut the small journal which concealed beneath its dark, quality-leather cover the musings of a superiorly bred mer haunted by most unsettling feelings, shot a hurried but still effective lightning bolt at Barbas, who yelped with pain and indignation and crawled into the shadows beneath the carriage seat facing the Thalmor's.
The carriage driver turned his head, ever so slightly - after all, it's not too often that you see a bad-tempered elf, who might or might not be a Thalmor agent wearing civilian clothing, argue with a talking dog - but when he caught a glimpse of Ondolemar's face, he hastened to focus back on the reins in his hands and the road ahead.
'I will not be judged by a dog,' Ondolemar hissed, applying the conventional eyes-flashing-under-hood technique to make his point sink in. Barbas, clearly, was far less impressed than the driver.
'You didn't forget, did you,' he