The dwarf lugged the package behind him, the sun slowly setting in the distance with a radiant orange. He had been walking for weeks. If he had taken a horse he would've been easier to notice, and that was something They couldn't risk.
It was close to midnight when he finally reached the stone cut building. The building that not even The Great Lion (the dwarf really hoped that the mere thought of the beast didn't alert him to his whereabouts) knew the existence of.
The dwarf tapped on the door and waited. Seconds later, a voice whispered, "the lion roars."
A chill ran up the dwarf's spine, and for a moment, he didn't respond, didn't want to respond. This was ludicrous, crazy, mad. If he went back now with the sword, maybe he could explain it all away, maybe they'd take him back, maybe they'd understand.
No…no. What had to be done had to be done.
Even as he opened his mouth, he felt as though frost had settled on his lips.
"And we roar back."
The door opened, spilling out yellow candle light onto the dwarf.
With one final look back at his past life, Trumpkin lugged the sword of King Peter The Magnificent into the stone building.
Outside, a light snow began to fall.
It seemed that winter was returning to Narnia.