Fairytales of Famous Authors Compared to Disney Cartoons with proper respect etc

The Silver Chair Book 5 P3 C. S. Lewis (1950-1954)Published1953

Please do not copy these chapters to any other website, this is a private book for reference to those who write and read and are unfamiliar with the stories since they may not have had access to them. I have no intentions of publishing this publicly at all if you see someone doing that they violate copyright law, you must report them immediately. This is a second edition book in which the stories were reprinted and not the exact original copy from all book set of three books containing every book in the Narnia Series in Chronological order and they made up three big book boxset and I own this set. This is just for me as a reference and private Wattpad only book so that others unfamiliar with these stories may be able to read and catch up even if they do not own the book, do not have access to a computer or wifi for that matter. C. S. Lewis was and is to this day one of my favorite authors. He served in the World Wars and when he got too old to do that he rescued four real children of which Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy are inspired from. So these characters aren't just characters they're more real than any other characters I know. And since I've put up one Christmas story it is only right I should do an even more beloved version. And the way I update this will be out of chronological order this story and the stories that follow will become huge points of cultural learning about Earth and how it works giving young Fairies a big shock in The Problems of Negativix. I will also continue my reference notes and opinions in my special () so that is not just the story, my dear Skylights. -Lumna10.

Chapter 5: Puddlegum

Jill was asleep. Ever since the owls' parliament began she had been yawning terribly and now she had dropped off.
She was not at all pleased at being waked again, and at find. ing herself lying on bare boards in a dusty belfry sort of place, completely dark, and almost completely full of owls.
She was even less pleased when she heard that they had to set off for somewhere else - and not, apparently, for bed - on the Owl's back.
"Oh, come on, Pole, buck up," said Scrubb's voice.
"After all, it is an adventure."
"I'm sick of adventures," said Jill crossly.
She did, however, consent to climb on to Glimfeather's back, and was thoroughly waked up (for a while) by the unexpected coldness of the air when he flew out with her into the night. The moon had disappeared and there were no stars. Far behind her she could see a single lighted window well above the ground; doubtless, in one of the towers of Cair Paravel. It made her long to be back in that delightful bedroom, snug in bed, watching the firelight on the walls.
She put her hands under her cloak and wrapped it tightly round her. It was uncanny to hear two voices in the dark air a little distance away; Scrubb and his owl were talking to one another. "He doesn't sound tired," thought Jill. She did not realize that he had been on great adventures in that world before and that the Narnian air was bringing back to him a strength he had won when he sailed the Eastern Seas with King Caspian.
Jill had to pinch herself to keep awake, for she knew that if she dozed on Glimfeather's back she would probably fall off. When at last the two owls ended their flight, she climbed stiffly off Glimfeather and found herself on flat ground. A chilly wind was blowing and they appeared to be in a place without trees. "Tu-whoo, tu-whoo!" Glimfeather was calling. "Wake up, Puddleglum. Wake up. It is on the Lion's business."
For a long time there was no reply. Then, a long way off, a dim light appeared and began to come nearer. With it came a voice.
"Owls ahoy!» it said. "What is it? Is the King dead? Has an enemy landed in Narnia? Is it a flood? Or dragons?"
When the light reached them, it turned out to be that of a large lantern. She could see very little of the person who held it. He seemed to be all legs and arms. The owls were talking to him, explaining everything, but she was too tired to listen.
She tried to wake herself up a bit when she realized that they were saying goodbye to her. But she could never afterwards remember much except that, sooner or later, she and Scrubb were stooping to enter a low doorway and then (oh, thank heavens) were lying down on something soft and warm, and a voice was saying:
"There you are. Best we can do. You'll lie cold and hard. Damp too, I shouldn't wonder. Won't sleep a wink, most likely; even if there isn't a thunderstorm or a flood or the wigwam doesn't fall down on top of us all, as I've known them do. Must make the best of it ––" But she was fast asleep before the voice had ended.
When the children woke late next morning they found that they were lying, very dry and warm, on beds of straw in a dark place. A triangular opening let in the daylight.
"Where on earth are we?" asked Jill.
"A what?"
"In the wigwam of a Marsh-wiggle," said Eustace.
"A Marsh-wiggle. Don't ask me what it is. I couldn't see it lastnight. I'm getting up. Let's go and look for it."
"How beastly one feels after sleeping in one's clothes" said Jill, sitting up.
"I was just thinking how nice it was not to have to dress," said Eustace.
es, wash either, I suppose," said Jill scornfully. But Scrubb had already got up, yawned, shaken himself, and crawled out of the wigwam. Jill did the same.
What they found outside was quite unlike the bit of Narnia they had seen on the day before. They were on a great flat plain which was cut into countless little islands by countless channels of water. The islands were covered with coarse grass and bordered with reeds and rushes. Sometimes there were beds of rushes about an acre in extent. Clouds of birds were constantly alighting in them and rising from them again - duck, snipe, bitterns, herons. Many wigwams like that in which they had passed the night could be seen dotted about, but all at a good distance from one another, for Marsh-wiggles are people who like privacy. Except for the fringe of the forest several miles to the south and west of them there was not a tree in sight. Eastward the flat marsh stretched to low sand-hills on the horizon, and you could tell by the salt tang in the wind which blew from that direction that the sea lay over there. To the North there were low pale-coloured hills, in places bastioned with rock. The rest was all flat marsh. It would have been a depressing place on a wet evening. Seen under a morning sun, with a fresh wind blowing, and the air filled with the crying of birds, there was something fine and fresh and clean about its loneliness. The children felt their spirits rise.