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Edmund had dropped himself off the balcony at the sight of the griffin. He'd been cornered by soldiers and had nowhere to go but down. A thought of Zola went through his head, in that he was happy she wasn't here to see him drop himself, since he'd judged her for doing the same just an hour prior.
He flew towards the eerily quiet courtyard. Once the courtyard was in sight, he understood why it had been so quiet. Narnians formed a pile in the middle, unmoving, bodies full of arrows, a gleaming crimson mess beneath them.
If he looked further, he saw a figure running. Edmund squinted his eyes against the cold air. He could make out Zola picking up her sword, deflecting arrows, but barely making it. He knew that if he'd go down there, he'd probably get hit by at least one arrow. Yet he couldn't leave her.
He pressured the griffin to dive into the courtyard. In one quick swoop, Edmund had his arm around Zola's waist, hoisting her up with him. She managed to climb onto the griffin's back behind him as he instructed her to hold onto him.
Zola had prepared to die. Memento Mori, she kept saying to herself. Over and over. Memento Mori. Memento Mori. Remember that you must die.
"Now who's saving who?" Edmund said to her.
"I suppose you'll want me to thank you," She replied. She did want to thank him. But to give him the satisfaction of even the slightest feeling that he was right was too much for her. "While I admit I did not see a way out, I'm going to say the same you told me. I didn't ask for your help."
"Sure." Edmund laughed.
Zola looked back to the courtyard. Her eyes drooped as she spotted one last view of the fallen Narnians. She couldn't help but feel responsible for them. Not because she was their leader, but because she'd known them the longest. And because this was her home. Her friends died in her home, and it was not supposed to happen that way.
