Will Briar begin a new era of witches, or will history repeat itself? Either way, Edmund won't be tricked twice.
.
"If I perish, I perish. You can take my life, but you can't take my will." In which a girl born of Narnia's two greatest adversaries...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Edited: 1/17/2024
Inside the tent, the female centaur introduced herself as Windmane, wife to Glenstrom, who was the herd's chief. She immediately seated Briar on a stool and went to the table to assemble combs and brushes. With Windmane preoccupied, Briar quickly took out the magical scroll from Professor Cornelius. She looked around frantically, searching for a hiding place. Her eyes settled on the bed right next to where she sat. Quickly, she stowed the item under a pillow. Just as she did so, the female centaur turned around. Good thinking, Briar thought. She inhaled a deep breath, willing herself to relax. For some reason, Cornelius had spoken of the scroll as if it were indispensable.
Windmane began unwinding the intricate braids Lydia had put into her hair; after her scuffle with Miraz, it was a disheveled wreck. The centaur mother hummed softly as she worked. Next, she dressed the growing bruise between her shoulder-blades with a sweet, herbal balm that smelled deliciously earthy. She wrapped it carefully in bandages; the same was done to her forearm, although it took much longer. Thankfully, the gash was clean and not jagged. The unfortunate part was that it required stitching, which Briar did not enjoy. The wound wasn't deep, but it wasn't shallow, either. Once that was taken care of, Windmane settled for washing and once more braiding her hair.
Each twist and weave of her fingers made Briar's mind slow. It soothed and massaged her head, causing her eyelids to droop. Exhaustion crawled up and over her like a warm, heavy blanket. Eventually, Windmane finished, much to Briar's disappointment.
Just as she'd started to drift off, the centaur let out a thoughtful sigh.
"You and your brother seem to have caused quite a commotion amongst the Narnians," she remarked, passing Briar a mirror to examine her hair. "They're all at odds about what to do with you."
Briar's focus flickered from her hair to Windmane's face behind her. "How do you mean?"
"Well, a lot of the dwarves and animals don't take kindly to Telmarines. It's only natural, given their history, you understand."
The girl hummed idly in response. From what she understood, Telmar had burst into Narnia unannounced, treating Narnians like monsters and wild animals as they claimed their forests for civilization. Eventually, their harsh treatment had begun to revert the creatures back to their unconscious, beastly state. Professor Cornelius had given her and Caspian a historical lecture on it a long time ago, back when Briar first believed in Narnia's magical properties. He had said that the words he had to offer were rare and beautiful, because while they were terrible and full of trials, they were truths.
The bearded, old man had gone on to say that the only Narnian education the Seven Lords allowed for was the kind that bred contempt. They only allowed Telmar to hear their carefully crafted stories, the ones about destruction and fear. Briar knew from her own education that what little was spoken of Narnians was not good. The Lords had tailored it to plant seeds of vengeance in future generations, to burn hatred into their minds with an iron of their own kindling.
