INCIPIENT ➵ EDMUND PEVENSIE

06 | Weight of Lost Time

06 | WEIGHT OF LOST TIME

He steps around the wall as he secures his sword at his hip, bowing playfully and exhibiting his medieval outfit to the rest.

    "It's been a long time since we've been in one of these," he says, smoothing out the creases of his cerulean tunic.

    "It's certainly less scratchy and heat-trapping than our uniforms," remarks Lucy. She makes a full turn in one of her older dresses, hem sweeping the ground, now that she's grown shorter. She grabs her dagger and alters the dress's length herself. Her hair is up in a neat half-updo - Susan's work.

    "All set?" asks Peter, reaching for Rhindon and his shield. He cringes at the colossal weight his shield bears on his young physic as soon as he slips it behind his back. Unhooking the tool, he gives the red lion imprint on the shiny metallic material a quick glance.

   "Would I be needing this?" he asks.

    "You'll never know," replies Susan, fastening the strap of her quiver.

    He takes a glimpse at the lion before latching it onto himself again.

    "Let's go."

     They hike up the stairs leading back up to the sun, sixteen steps, to be exact, just like before. The incandescent flare from above blazed down on them, leaving them blinking in the light for a few moments before any of them were actually capable of any form of visual judgement again.

    "He won't stop staring," says a voice in the distance.

    "So don't look," replies another, annoyed.

    Edmund peeps through the thick orchard of apple trees towards the south, where he distinctively recalls Glasswater, a creek that was narrow but had cool raging waters rushing downstream like a train-

    All he saw was a peaceful, shallow lagoon of uniform jade, tiny ripple folds lapping at where the water level reached. It is plain compared to the sonorous creek with rolling currents he remembers.

    A wooden boat in the centre of the tranquil lake catches his attention as soon as it comes within range of his vision. With two armed soldiers seated comfortably in it, there seems to be something amiss. The image of a brutal war scene and the amicable Glasswater just doesn't seem to match no matter how he orientates the pieces.

    Then he realises. They had company - a little bundle of something between them.

    "Guys, we should-" he begins, spinning on his heel.

    They are already a metre or two ahead of him, scampering down the site to the beach with the aid of the path they discovered earlier.

    "Go."

    He breaks into a sprint, his sword clicking against his side each time his feet leave the ground.

    "You could've informed me that you were leaving," he complains once on par with Susan.