Further Up & Further In

The Ground You've Been Given

They had pitched the tent earlier that evening, just as it had begun to get dark, preparing for one last night in the woods after a long field exercise they'd begun two mornings previous. The tent itself stood miserably on the hard ground, and although it wasn't cold, or at least not as cold as it could've been, there was a noticeable chill each time the wind came up. Besides this, there was a definite threat of rain later that night. The air was filled with all the usual forest sounds; the rustling of leaves, the cracking of twigs, and the occasional hoot of an owl, as well as the dull thud of someone chopping wood. 

Not that Peter noticed any of this. He sat inside the tent on his makeshift bed, poring over pages with a torch in hand. The torch had been a gift from Edmund before he'd begun his service; one of two torches Edmund had currently had in his position, the second of which he had promptly lost after giving one to Peter, as he always seemed to do. It was a gift Peter treasured. It was functional, and had purpose, but what Peter liked best were the glints of memories he experienced every time he used it; He still remembered Edmund's infamous words in the train station, when Peter and Susan had returned to England for the last time, and though that had been a tough day, that moment had made it a little lighter. It was the little things that made it all easier.

"Pevensie?" a voice interrupted him, needlessly formal, and Peter glanced up at the entrance to the tent.

"Barnes," Peter greeted the man in the doorway, mimicking his use of his surname instead of his given. Despite the formal address, the two of them were good friends.

"The wood's all chopped. If you want to grab the matches and get a fire started, I'll meet you out there in a moment. I want to set out my bed before it gets too late." Lewis Barnes ducked into the tent.

"I already laid it out for you," Peter replied, shining his flashlight towards the other bed.

Lewis thanked him, and then paused, sliding his hands into his pockets. He watched as Peter turned back to the bible in his hand, noticing as his brows furrowed slightly. "What are you reading now, Peter?"

"Acts," Peter answered. "I'm reading about Paul and Silas in prison, and I have to say, I don't understand it."

"Preacher Pevensie doesn't understand something?" Lewis teased, calling him by a nickname he'd only recently earned from the other servicemen. 

"Stop that." Peter shook his head. "But no, I don't. Here, Lewis, listen to this:

"And at midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God: and the prisoners heard them. / And suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken: and immediately all the doors were opened, and every one's bands were loosed. / And the keeper of the prison awaking out of his sleep, and seeing the prison doors open, he drew out his sword, and would have killed himself, supposing that the prisoners had been fled. / But Paul cried with a loud voice, saying, 'Do thyself no harm: for we are all here.'"

"I remember that one," Lewis said, and then in a softer voice, added, "I always liked it."

"But why did they stay, Lewis?"

"What do you mean?

"Imagine it. You are locked away, somewhere dark and lonely and terrifying. You can't tell me you would stay there. Imagine if we were at war right now, and you were a prisoner chained up somewhere, but then, miraculously, the earth shakes, your prison breaks, and your chains fall off. What do you do?"

"I'd make a mad dash for it, is what I'd do," Lewis answered, the corner of his mouth lifting into a soft smile. Then, grabbing the box of matches out of his bag, he said, "Come on, Pete. Let's get this fire going."