Our Long Awaited Return Book #8

Chapter 13 Midnight Raid

Andrew found his younger sister sitting outside the next morning, whittling away with a stick and her pen-dagger.

"There you are," he sat down beside her. "I haven't seen you since last night."

"I was tired," she retorted coldly. "Why do I have to share sleeping quarters with Leona?"

"Why?" he asked. "Does she snore?"

"No," she shook her head. "You know we don't get along."

"Neither do Peter and I at the moment," he sighed. "He's changed and so have you."

"Changed," Verity laughed. "How many people have told me that already?"

Andrew’s eyes traced back to the piece of wood Verity was whittling with. "What are you making?"

"Nothing, you know I can't make art out of anything," she sighed. "Outside of music and writing, my fingers fumbled."

Andrew lay down on the ground, holding his head under his arms. "I'm sure you can."

"I'd rather write than do anything else in the world," she mumbled.

"And I'd rather do anything concerning art, and there might still be some hope for that piece, Key," he replied. "Let me have it."

She handed it to him and watched as his hands skillfully whittled away.

"So?" she asked, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You seem to have caught Beth's eye."

Andrew blushed. "Verity, if we’re anything, we’re friends. I don’t like her."

"Really," his younger sister chuckled. "I think you’re secretly in love with her."

He rolled his eyes. Maybe he did, but he wasn't going to admit it to her.

After he and Peter prepared for the battle, the two boys made their way to the entrance of the how.

"As I've been trying to tell you, Pete," Andrew began, "This is a bad idea. Think of the men we could lose."

"So if you don't like it then stay behind," his twin retorted. "It's not like you are the one who makes the decisions around here."

"Then who does?" he questioned, confused.

"Me, I'm the High King," Peter stated coldly as he walked ahead of his twin, his head held high and his jaw set.

Andrew sighed as he stared at the hallway; the paintings came alive before his eyes. He could see it all—Narnia as it was before all this happened, before his brother became proud and pious. Peter used to be a kind and considerate young man who cared about the needs of his siblings and the pleas of his people. But now, the soft heart had turned cold, hardened towards others. Before, Peter had treated him with respect and acknowledged his help. Now, Andrew had become just another younger brother to him.

Peter may have been the High King and older, but Andrew was the same age—they were twins! They used to have a bond closer than most brothers, but now Peter had pushed him away, thinking he could do this all alone. The same he had done with the others—scowling at Susan's suggestions, disgusted at his and Edmund's help, despising Verity's protests, ignoring Ruth and Lucy's soft, tender pleas, and last of all, rejecting Aslan's authority.

"You seem to be deep in thought," he heard a familiar voice. "Aren't you forgetting about the raid?"

He turned to see Beth. "Oh, I was just admiring those paintings."

"They seem so alive, don't they?" she rested her hand on the picture of Lucy and Mr. Tumnus. Andrew caught sight of a ring on her finger; his heart sank. She didn't love another man, did she?