INCIPIENT ➵ EDMUND PEVENSIE

08 | Faith of the Valiant

08 | FAITH OF THE VALIANT

After what seemed to be a lifetime, they catch sight of a shore approximal to the Black Woods.

    They hop onto the petite beach, comparatively tinier than the one they were on before, with sediment much coarser and tainted with specks of umber. What is it?

    Fur.

    "Hello there! It's alright, we're friends," Lucy's voice sounds, wrapped in gaiety.

    The rest of them turn in her direction.

    There she is, in a semi-bent position with her hands on her knees and backside towards them all, beckoning for an animate something to come to her.

    That something grubs at what is masked beyond their sight, hindered by a fallen log thwart across the width of the shore. Its muscular back, carpeted with a dense layer of dark fur, bulges and flexes with its ceaseless movements.

    The beast recoils from its hunched over posture, snapping his attention to them, or more specifically, Lucy.

    A bear it is, with hairs so dark and atramentous it was as though the creature is a moving shadow devoid of its host.

    Edmund's amulet begins to heat up against his skin - a clear sign of danger.

    "Don't move, Your Majesty!" shouts Trumpkin, a step ahead of the Just King.

    The bear slumps his front paws down into the crumbly sand, propelling its weight forwards into a charge in the direction of its prey.

    "Stay away from her!" shrieks Susan, aiming her already strung arrow at the threat, the feathered fletching of the projectile teasing the skin of her cheek.

    "Susan, shoot!" Edmund orders in a panic, sword unsheathed as the beast shows no volition in the abortion of his plans for his lunch. 

    The bear advances swiftly, and Lucy, who is battling an internal struggle making her next move, falls flat on her back upon her flounder over a pebble. She yelps in terror as it leaps for her, displaying its pernicious canines while it growls, and Edmund found himself readying his blade in a stance to hurl.

    An arrow flits past him before the hilt of his sword manages to abandon his cinch.

    The projectile penetrates the flesh of the creature facilely. It doubles over, plunging down into the sand beside Lucy from its collapse.

    Edmund eyes Susan over his shoulder and sees that her arrow remains planted in her bow. It was Trumpkin who fired.

    "Why wouldn't he stop?" asks Susan, lowering her weapon, demoralisation evident on her features.

    "I suspect he was hungry," replies Trumpkin, shambling towards the abeyant figure of the bear. They hustle behind him to get to their sister.