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

The Last Battle Book 6 The Last Battle Book 6 C. S. Lewis(1950-1954) P7

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. Chapters 13 & 14 of the Last Battle will appear here.

(Before we continue you remember in The Magician's Nephew how Uncle Andrew made himself believe all the nonsense of Narnia wasn't real. How Aslan wasn't singing, and The Talking Beasts weren't talking. Whelp, that is what Griffle the Black Dwarf and his buddies did to themselves in this Chapter 13 below––Lumna10)

Chapter 13: How The Dwarfs Refused To Be Taken In

Tirian had thought –– or he would have thought if he had time to think at all –– that they were inside a little thatched stable, about twelve feet long and six feet wide. In reality they stood on grass, the deep blue sky was overhead, and the air which blew gently on their faces was that of a day in early summer. Not far away from them rose a grove of trees, thickly leaved, but under every leaf there peeped out the gold or faint yellow or purple or glowing red of fruits such as no one has seen in our world. The fruit made Tirian feel that it must be autumn but there was something in the feel of the air that told him it could not be later than June. They all moved towards the trees.
Everyone raised his hand to pick the fruit he best liked the look of, and then everyone paused for a second. This fruit was so beautiful that each felt "It can't be meant for me ... surely we're not allowed to pluck it."
"It's all right," said Peter.
"I know what we're all thinking. But I'm sure, quite sure, we needn't. I've a feeling we've got to the country where everything is allowed."
"Here goes, then!" said Eustace. And they all began to eat.
What was the fruit like? Unfortunately no one can describe a taste. All I can say is that, compared with those fruits, the freshest grapefruit you've ever eaten was dull, and the juiciest orange was dry, and the most melting pear was hard and woody, and the sweetest wild strawberry was sour. And there were no seeds or stones, and no wasps. If you had once eaten that fruit, all the mic-est things in this world would taste like medicines after it.
But I can't describe it. You can't find out what it is like unless you can get to that country and taste it for yourself.
When they had eaten enough, Eustace said to King Peter, "You haven't yet told us how you got here. You were just going to, when King Tirian turned up."
"There's not much to tell," said Peter. "Edmund and I were standing on the platform and we saw your train coming in. I remember thinking it was taking the bend far too fast. And I remember thinking how funny it was that our people were probably in the same train though Lucy didn't know about it -"
"Your people, High King?" said Tirian.
"I mean my Father and Mother - Edmund's and Lucy's and mine.
"Why were they?" asked Jill. "You don't mean to say they know about Narnia?"
"Oh no, it had nothing to do with Narnia. They were on their way to Bristol. I'd only heard they were going that morning. But Edmund said they'd be bound to be going by that train." (Edmund was the sort of person who knows about railways.)
"And what happened then?" said Jill.
"Well, it's not very easy to describe, is it, Edmund?" said the High King.
"Not very," said Edmund. "It wasn't at all like that other time when we were pulled out of our own world by Magic. There was a frightful roar and something hit me with a bang, but it didn't hurt. And I felt not so much scared as –– well, excited. Oh –– and this is one queer thing. I'd had a rather sore knee, from a hack at rugger. I noticed it had suddenly gone. And I felt very light. And then –– here we were."
"It was much the same for us in the railway carriage," said the Lord Digory, wiping the last traces of the fruit fom his golden beard. "Only I think you and I, Polly, chiefly felt that we'd been unstiffened. You youngsters won't understand. But we stopped feeling old."
"Youngsters, indeed!" said Jill. "I don't believe you two really are much older than we are here."
"Well if we aren't, we have been," said the Lady Polly.
"And what has been happening since you got here?" asked Eustace.
"Well," said Peter, "for a long time (at least I suppose it was a long time) nothing happened. Then the door opened ––"
"The door?" said Tiran.
"Yes," said Peter. "The door you came in –– or came out by. Have you forgotten?"
"But where is it?"
"Look," said Peter and pointed.
Tirian looked and saw the queerest and most ridiculous thing you can imagine. Only a few yards away, clear to be seen in the sunlight, there stood up a rough wooden door and, round it, the framework of the doorway: nothing else, no walls, no roof. He walked towards it, bewildered, and the others followed, watching to see what he would do. He walked round to the other side of the door. But it looked just the same from the other side: he was still in the open air, on a summer morning. The door was simply standing up by itself as if it had grown there like a tree.