Our Last (book 3)// Edmund Pevensie✔

XI

It was cold and it was dark.

The fire didn't help much with keeping warm nor did it do much to provide some light.

With the twigs and dried sticks gathered, the fire wouldn't last for more than a few hours. Being standed alone in the dark on an unknown island with no weapon was as good as dead. You never know what sort of animal or beast might find you.

It was useless thinking about looking around at this late hour. There wasn't much to do besides sit and wait for the fire to die out which would result in either dying of the cold or at the hands or well, jaws of a wild animal.

The only sounds of comfort were the cackling fire, the waves and a distant voice of someone close to home.

Staying here for help wasn't an option. It would be a waste of time. No one would come here.

It'd be a miracle if anyone did.

No, the only option was to find a way out, assuming that fate was kind enough to keep anything harmful away for the night. Building a raft wasn't going to be easy at all. If anything it would be more time consuming.

And time was something that couldn't be wasted. Not at this point.

I have to get out of here.

I have to get back to them no matter what I have to do.

Even if it means I have to swim my way there.

This is not how I meet my end, isolated on some forsaken island. No, I WILL find my way back. And if I die, I'll die defending Narnia alongside the others.

His eyes grew heavy and despite the dying fire, Edmund couldn't stop himself from drifting off to sleep. He silently asked Aslan to look out for him through the night before sleep engulfed him completely and he drifted off into a dreamless slumber.