Dream

The Storm

"Why? How?" I say, startled.

"You are such a strong and amazing person! You survive living alone on an island and you don't think your life is astounding!"

"Because it's not," I say, looking at him.

"Your life is so different than mine but it is still astounding," Peter shakes his head slightly.

"So," I need to change the subject. "Did you see the two armies battling at the bottom of Coriakin's map?"

"Yes I did," he nods.

"Do you know anything about them?" I cautiously ask.

"Of course I do, I lead the army," Peter answers as if it was obvious.

"Really? You charged on the White Unicorn?" my eyes light up and I lean forward, ready for the story.

"Would you like me to tell you about it?" Peter laughs.

"Oh, yes please," I sit straight, realizing my actions.

Peter looks at me with a smile and starts his tale. "When we first came to Narnia we had to defeat the White Witch who had been in reign for 100 years and made it always winter. For us (my siblings and I) to defeat her and rule Narnia we had to win in a battle, and that's what you saw on the map. My siblings and I had only been in Narnia a number of days and in our world we don't battle like you do so we had to learn everything very quickly. Then the night before the battle Aslan was put to the Stone Table and I, as High King, had to lead the army."

Peter's voice adds all of the detail needed to the story. I sit before him in an almost unconscious shock. The human (if that does him justice) before me had lead armies into wars and battles, he has traveled to another world, he has ruled thousands of years before this time and he is only 18 years old. His life has created the ara of wisdom and strength about him. And it also explains the feeling of age and youth upon him. And when I look upon his face I feel that I can see scars, physical scars, that should be etched into his skin but have somehow disappeared. I feel as if I should ask about the scars too.

"Alenia, you look like you need to ask me a question," Peter observes.

How does he always read my mind like that? Well, here it goes...

"Peter, did you get a scar on your right eyebrow?" I ask him, touching my eyebrow as I look at his.

"Well, yes, I got it when I was battling the White Witch a few years ago," his pointer and middle finger touch his eyebrow too as he speaks. "But it disappeared when I went back to England, my country in my world. How did you know?" his eyes search mine.

"I can see it very faintly, I don't know how," I answer.

"What do you see?"

"It's not quite a shadow, almost like the scar is very very faint. You know like when you just barely scratch yourself and just before it disappears it is only just visible," I try to explain.

"Are there any others you can see?" he asks.

I look over his face. "On your right cheek I see a large scar from a scratch, a very bad scratch," I say, touching my own cheek where I see the scar on him.

"I received that four years ago when I fought with Caspian," he says.

Peter leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

"Did I upset you Peter?" I ask, sliding closer to him and leaning forward.

"No, I'm only trying to figure out how you did that, how you see a scar that use to be there but was taken away," he ponders aloud.

"Maybe I'm just a see-er," I shrug.

"Maybe," he looks up at me with a smile in the corner of his mouth.

Later that evening as the sun begins to kiss the ocean and the East Sky begins to darken, the dark blue is replaced by gray and the smooth sky becomes jagged with clouds waiting to burst upon us.

"Lower the sails!" Drinian bellows to the crew as the first drops gently patter on the deck of the Dawn Treader.

"Alenia, you best be going inside," Peter tells me as we stand at the bow of hte ship.

"Not unless you come too Peter," I say as the rain falls harder and steadier.

"I'll be in right after you, take Lucy too," he instructs me as the wind starts to pick up and the waves grow quickly.

"Promise?"

"I promise, now go," he pushes me forward.

I grab Lucy and we go into the cabin at the back of the ship.

"Will Peter be coming?" she asks.

"Yes he will, very shortly," I assure her.

She sits at the bay window/bed, looking and watching. The waves grow and the rain gouges the ocean and stabs the ship, the drops punch at the glass, shaking the rectangles in their wooden frames. I place a log on the glowing fire and stir the embers, the bark catches on fire and slowly melts away.

I sit on the bed as the ship turns and rocks and tosses on top of the dark water. I lay back and let the ship rock me with it as my legs are warmed by the fire.

The door opens and three soaked bodies scatter into the room. Lucy immediately gets up and grabs three towels, handing them out to Peter, Caspian, and Susan.