From Wales I am heading South – down under – or perhaps down and out? The environment certainly has an underground feel.
“Seren ignored the sting of the fly sucking blood from her ankle. She pushed her lips into the salty skin of her knees, pressing the sobs back behind her teeth. This is the last night, she told herself. The last night with her back to the wall, shrunk into the corner, praying for morning. Whatever happened tonight, it would be the last time she slept with the lice scrabbling for purchace on her near-shaved scalp, and nesting in her pubic hair.”
Oh no, another one of those fictional dwarves. A poor mother is sent away to prison, and the authorities come to drag her son away:
“He was eight years old; the top of his head did not even reach their waists.”
Just try to grab the nearest eight-year-old child and perform your own experiment: how tall is he/she compared to an adult? Sorry, but this is a pet peeve of mine; if you have to include little people in your books, please try to make them life-size.