Every Knight has his Squire, and Reepicheep had Everbright. Everbright was a Ferret: a shiftless, cowardly, easily distracted young pup whose only constant thought seemed to be that his Master was the brightest and bravest star in King Caspian's court. A lesser Knight might have been pleased to have such a toady telling him how grand he was, but Reepicheep would have preferred a Squire who could at least hold on to the same idea from one minute to the next, and who didn't go scurrying at the mere sight of a Horse.
Everbright had been thrust upon Reepicheep soon after the coronation, by Aslan himself. "You will be good for him," the Lion had said.
Reepicheep had swept a low bow, revelling in the balance afforded by his new tail, and accepted the charge graciously. Privately, he wondered if this Everbright - at that moment hiding in a bushel of oranges - would be at all good for him or for the new court. "These things are meant to challenge us," he thought grimly, "and never let it be said that Reepicheep walked away from a challenge."
It was a day's journey to get to Valaros' farm, through very inconvenient terrain. Through it all, Everbright chattered about everything and nothing, and dashed about after butterflies. It could get rather trying at first, but after a while it began to feel more like a jolly holiday, with Everbright's bright chatter chasing away any concerns Reepicheep might have had about the upcoming task. Just as it was beginning to get trying again, they broke through the woods and came upon a handsome, cleared piece of land, with a stately stone house at the centre of it.
This was the farm of Lord Valaros, and it looked as though they might have arrived there too late.
A gang of Dryads and woodland creatures were at the door, which was shut tight against them. They were howling and banging, and sure to break their way in soon. Watching them from the window above was a stocky, dark-haired man, and even at this distance, Reepicheep could see the way his hand was clenched about the pommel of his sword.
Doubtless, words had been exchanged earlier; there was no use for words now.
Everbright pulled up short and took in the scene, wide-eyed, then scuttled under a broken butter churn for cover. Reepicheep dropped onto all fours and scampered between the legs of the taller Narnians, to place himself between the door and them.
"Hold up," he cried.
The Old Narnians didn't hear him.
"I said, hold up!"
Finally, he drew his sword and thrust it up into the air above him, and the nearest Dryad started back in surprise at the sudden appearance of steel before her eyes.
"Hold!" Reepicheep shouted, and now they did hold, the angry roar settling down to a restless murmur. And not a minute too soon: the wood magic of the Dryads had warped the door so badly, it was a miracle of Telmarine engineering that it still stood.
"I am Reepicheep," he announced, "Chief of the Talking Mice, Knight of the Order of the Lion, chosen representative of his Majesty King Caspian X -" It might seem pointless and proud to you, rattling off all these titles like this, but it was just the sort of thing to impress a mob; and anyway it took them all that long to settle into any sort of mood to listen, and I dare say most of them heard not a word of it. Reepicheep took a deep breath as he came to the end of his self-introduction, and bellowed: "And I demand to know the meaning of this outrage!"
The tallest of the Dryads, stately and graceful, with long willow-frond hair, stepped forward. The others stepped back to give her room, for the Willow is a Queen among trees, and few would dare to crowd her.
"This man," the Willow declared, with a regal gesture towards the man still glowering down on the company from the upstairs window, "is a murderer. Without regard, he has felled our sister -"
Reepicheep raised a paw. He knew all of that: but even he had to admit, during the Dryads' long slumber before Aslan's return, there really was no telling which were Talking Trees, housing a Dryad spirit, and which were ordinary small-T trees.
"His Majesty is aware of your grievances," Reepicheep began, "and will be dispatching an Intermediary to decide the matter, and broker an agreement -"
The Willow stamped her foot in annoyance. "That is not the crime I meant!" She pointed to a shape that stood like a scarecrow at the edge of the property. "I mean that ... that desecration!"
Reepicheep drew in his breath. It was not a scarecrow, but the body of a Dryad: another Willow, from the looks of her, but much younger than the one addressing him now. Dryads normally disappeared into nothingness when their trees were chopped down: that this Dryad still remained, though devoid of life, meant that she had been personally attacked, away from her tree.
There was no question of any man having unwittingly chopped down a Dryad's tree while she slept: this was a deliberate, cold-blooded murder.