Cressida's whole world is one frozen prison.
The land of Narnia was long ago plunged into eternal winter by the White Witch, Jadis Queen of Narnia. The powerful sorceress who stole Cressida from her home and her people. Cressida is little more than...
By the time we reach the beaver's dam, my breath comes in shorter pants, and my legs begin to ache. The youngest girl is near exhaustion as we bustle through the door.
"What's going on?" another beaver, with a distinctly female voice, asks, "Who's this?"
"A friend, I assure you." I reply quickly.
"Why would Edmund do this?" The young girl asks.
"The Witch's magic is very powerful, she can make food that bewitches the mind, an addiction so strong that even those strong of heart and mind struggle to resist. Let alone a boy as young as your Edmund."
"Magic, witchcraft, this is all completely impossible." The elder girl half-shouts.
"I assure you her magic is very real and very dangerous." I retort.
Suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and my ears prick, "It's Maugrim, they're close!"
The little dam erupts into a flurry of activity, with voices flinging back and forth and the beavers scurrying about. Suddenly, the sound of claws scraps at the windows, and the air is filled with the sounds of howling, growling wolves.
"Get into the tunnel now!" Mr. Beaver shouts.
One by one, we descend, and Mr. Beaver closes the little door behind us.
The tunnel is narrow and squat, I have to bend at the waist so as to be able to move. The boy has to crouch ever more behind me, his tall frame an even worse fit for the space.
The beavers charge on ahead and we follow as the sounds of the wolves get quieter behind us. Twisting and turning through the tunnel, the beavers bicker about where the tunnel lets out, and the elder girl urges the young Lucy along.
"I'm Peter, by the way." The boy says from behind me.
I turn my head over my shoulder for a moment to look at him.
"I didn't introduce myself before, were you really the witch's prisoner?" He continues.
"Listen, uh, Peter, I would love to continue this conversation when we are not in imminent danger." I puff. "If that is all right with you."
Peter doesn't have time to answer before Lucy trips on a root and falls with a grunt. The group halts, and in the silence, the sound of howls pierce through.
"They're in the tunnel." Lucy whispers.
"Quick! This way!" Mr Beaver commands.
"Hurry!" Mrs Beaver shouts.
Just as my fear racks up to new heights, we hit a dead end.
Damn.
Mrs. Beaver chastises her husband for not bringing a map. He mutters something I don't quite hear before jumping up through the roof of the tunnel.
It takes a bit of effort and wriggling to pull ourselves out of the tunnel, but the cold night air hits my face, and I breathe deeply for what feels like the first time since I met these people. I whip my head back to the tunnel to see Mr Beaver and Peter rolling a barrel in front of the exit.
At the sound of a grunt, I look across the clearing to see Lucy sprawled across the ground.
Oh no.
The snow-covered meadow is littered with statues, and doors to tiny houses and burrows stand ajar. All of them, every last one, dead. Mr. Beaver walks mournfully towards one, a badger, by the looks of it, holding its cold stone shoulders.
"What happened here?" Peter demands.
"This is what becomes of those who cross the witch." A voice answers from atop the badger burrow.
I sigh a little with relief when I see Fox. Mr Beaver begins throwing insults at the animal, while Fox insists he's on their side. He comes to stand in front of me.
"My lady." He dips his head.
"Fox, Maugrim is right behind us."
"I know, we have to move." Fox agrees.
"What exactly did you have in mind?" Peter asks.
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Just as our little group settles high in a tree, the barrel bursts away from the tunnel, and wolves pour out into the quiet night. I can only hope the cover of darkness is enough.
Fox begins talking to Maugrim, hoping to distract the wolves. The large grey wolf circles him, speaking with snarls and gnashing teeth. Fox plays the role of ally to the witch well, he always has. Stays just aloof enough to seem uncaring while seeming to easily give up when pressed.
I knew Maugrim's tactics, but hearing the stories and seeing his actions in person were quite different.
One of the wolves lunges forward, locking his jaws around Fox's spine and lifting him from the ground. I cringe, and the sight and the sound of Fox's whimper has me biting my lip to stay quiet. I look down at Peter, who has his hand firmly over Lucy's mouth, suppressing a gasp.
From the corner of my eye, I see Fox point north, and Maugrim barks an order. The wolves depart, and Fox is tossed aside.
When I'm sure the coast is clear, and even my stronger nymph hearing can't detect the wolves anymore, I barrel down the tree as quickly as possible.
Fox is trying to stand, his coat stained crimson from the puncture wounds.
"Oh, Fox, I am so sorry."
"Anything to protect the humans, my lady, they're our only hope." His breath comes out in ragged pants. "They're the kings and queens we were promised."
"You are sure of it?" I whisper.
"Aslan is sure, so I'm sure. Even if they don't know it yet." Fox insists.
Mrs. Beaver rushes over to us.
"The wounds are not deep, can you help him."
"Yes, dear, yes, of course." She gushes.
She urges me towards the burrows, and I gingerly lift Fox despite his protests.
