Clara Bronson never thought that a lion could ever be capable of speaking English, nor did she expect to find a whole world behind her grandfather's beloved wardrobe with four siblings from Finchley.
For many years Clara had lived a life of cold...
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WINDING RIVERS.
Lucy and Clara trudged down the rain-slicked streets of Cambridge, their shoes squelching with each step. The grocery bags they carried were heavy, the brown paper already starting to soften under the persistent drizzle.
Each bag was filled to the brim with piles of potatoes and turnips peeking out from the tops, while loaves of bread jostled against tins of beans.
Above them, the sky was a moody gray, clouds hanging low. A lone airplane droned overhead, its engine a far-away hum that barely cut through the constant patter of rain.
As they walked, a gust of wind picked up, sending a soggy pamphlet tumbling along the wet pavement. The pamphlet, emblazoned with the cheerful face of a British soldier, caught Clara's eye as it flitted past, its corners curling and tearing in the breeze.
Lucy shifted the weight of her bag in her arms, her grip tightening as she glanced over at Clara. Despite the downpour, her expression was pleasant. "I still can't believe you're here." Lucy puffed out, trying to match the older girl's pace. "Edmund's going to be so surprised when he sees you!"
Clara looked down at Lucy with a soft smile. "I told you I'd come visit during my break. I'll have to give my thanks to your aunt and uncle for hosting me."
Lucy nodded, her wet hair plastered to her forehead as they stopped just before the recruitment center. The building loomed over them, its windows fogged from the inside.
"He's probably in here... again." Her face darkened as she watched a group of men push open the doors with papers in hand.
Clara sighed, her arms aching as she fixed her grip once more on the grocery bags.
The few times she had written to Edmund over the two and a half years since they came back from Narnia, he seemed hell-bent on fighting for England in the war.
She had hoped that with time, his eagerness would go away, that he would realize the harsh reality of trading his sword for a gun.
But it appeared that realization had not yet dawned on him.
Clara and Lucy exchanged a look, the unspoken understanding clear in their eyes as they approached the steps of the recruitment center.
The rain had turned the steps slick, but they carefully navigated them, their Mary Jane shoes making dull thuds against the stone.
Together, they worked to pry open the heavy wooden door, the effort requiring both of their strengths. Clara gripped the tarnished brass handle, her fingers slipping slightly before she managed a firm hold.
