Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis. I'm merely playing with his world.
In the early light of morning, a dark wolf followed down the hill a set of staggering, uneven footsteps in the deep snow. The footsteps were clear, and the wolf didn't even bother sniffing them, or going faster than a slow trot. He knew where his prey had gone, and he knew his prey would be unable to run fast enough to escape, even if there was somewhere to run to.
The soft pads made little noise as he veered into the woods, but the boy kneeling there looked up at him anyways. For a moment the wolf paused, taking in the too-pales cheeks, the thin white clothes, and the haunted eyes. Months ago, in Her Majesty's frozen hall he had seen those eyes for the first time; they had been full of life, defiance, and fear, but all that was left was despair. He was alive, but there was no life in those dark eyes.
The boy locked eyes with the wolf for a moment longer, then returned his gaze to three of the five statues where that same defiance and fear the wolf remembered was frozen for all of time.
"Edmund, she will be looking for you soon," said the wolf, his voice surprisingly soft with pity.
Edmund flinched slightly, but made no other sign that he had heard.
The wolf sighed. "Why do you come here? They cannot see you, cannot hear you, cannot forgive you now. You only make life harder for yourself."
"It doesn't matter."
The wolf twitched his tail in irritation. "What do you mean 'it doesn't matter'? Look at your foot! And if you doubt she'll punish you again today if you aren't back up there when she wants you, you're a fool."
Edmund put a hand on the stone shoe encasing his foot and closed his eyes in a grimace. They both knew that eventually the foot would become infected or frostbitten and have to be amputated—a long, cruel punishment. Her Majesty had gotten annoyed at how often her pet human ran away.
The wolf stalked over to the small form of the half-frozen boy and pounced, knocking the boy over. One paw on each shoulder, the wolf glared down at the boy.
"Malyed?"
"Do you think I enjoy seeing your pain? Your siblings are gone. Those statues are not coming back to life. It's time for you to move on. Think! Plan! If only how to live one more day without adding to your load of pain."
Those dark eyes stared up at him. "I deserve it."
"What?" growled Malyed.
"The pain. I deserve it."
Malyed snarled. "Fool! Pain is a teacher. It shows you that you've done something wrong, and warns against continuing. So, you hurt. What have you learned?"
The dark eyes blinked, and something like confusion crept in where there had been only emptiness. "Learned?"
"Yes, fool, what have you learned?"
"I know," he began in a small voice, "I know now that I loved my family. I miss Peter bossing me around, trying to be a leader and protector, I miss Susan's irritating mothering, I miss Lucy's smile. Without them what is the point?" He seemed to lose words for a moment, but his eyes were full of life and anger again, until he pulled them tightly closed. "I know what hate is now. I hate the Witch! I hate her!"
A paw slapped the boy's face, swiftly but with little strength behind it. "Must you speak such things so loudly?" growled Malyed. "Not all of the trees here are friendly to you."
He looked down expectantly, but the boy had quieted again. A small trickle of blood dripped down one cheek. Somewhere a bird twittered half-heartedly in the gloomy morning.
"Hmmm. It is past time to get you back to the castle," said Malyed in a tired, quiet voice, and stepped off of Edmund's shoulders. "Think about what you've learned. Think about what you can do now. And please, your Highness, try not to get yourself hurt."
With one last glance at the slightly widened eyes, Malyed seized a mouthful of the boy's sleeve and began tugging him back up the hill towards the ever-frozen castle. He felt as the boy looked back at the defiant statues, and felt a twinge of something like dread and something like half-forgotten hope as he heard the heavier thump of the boy's left step—covered with stone it may be, frozen, painful, but it was not yet dead. Where there is life, there is hope.