The first meal back…
First Thanksgiving
"Peter, would you?" Lucy looked up at him imploringly, and Peter swallowed, his eyes misting. He blinked the moisture away and looked up to the Professor, who was sitting quietly at the other end of the dining room table, his hands folded over his plate.
"I don't see where it would hurt," the old man said calmly. "After all, thanks are given for meals in this world, the same as in Narnia."
Peter smiled, tentative, and his gaze flicked over his other siblings flanking him at the table. Edmund had his dark brown eyes fastened to the table's centerpiece and wouldn't look at him – fat lot of help you are, Ed, thanks ever so – while Susan, with an unreadable expression on her face, gave him the slightest of nods.
Still he hesitated. "Please, my lord," whispered his youngest sister, a tear making its lone way down her child's face. He was nearly undone.
"For thy blessings and the bounty of this table, Aslan, we give thee thanks," he said thickly, as he lifted his glass, raised it to eye level, and then took a sip. The brackish water crested on his tongue and then cascaded down his throat, and for a moment, he almost tasted the rich spices of Narnian wine. He fought the urge to choke, managed to hang on, and swallowed.
"We give thee thanks," his brother and sisters echoed softly, and then at his gesture, they busied themselves with their meal.