HOLY ASLAN that took longer than expected! What's it been, four months? Yeesh. Sorry about that folks. This chapter hated me, and then I was applying to colleges and housing and shit. Real Life can be a bitch. And not in the good Canisp sort of way.

Chapter 3-Anvard

It took two weeks for Angela to declare Canisp fit for travel, with the stipulation that she have her wing checked again by a healer in Anvard and pick up as much dried poinsettia as she could find while they were in the city.

"It's worthless to anyone but us," Angela had griped, "but they'll still want to be paid for it, so tell them they'll get their silver in autumn just like they have every year." Jenga, looking amused but too polite to say anything, had agreed warmly. Apparently there was a long-running passive-aggressive feud between the healers of Anvard and the Horseshoe Pack.

"Half the time they'd die for each other, and half the time they'd slit each other's throats over a missing twig," Jenga said laughingly, and Canisp, thinking of the red wolf's namesake, had a very clear idea of what that kind of bond could be like. She laughed unthinkingly picturing it, then stopped short.

The pain she was expecting didn't come, and, slowly, she smiled.

"Canisp!" Jenga called from up ahead. "Are you all right?"

Canisp looked up to where the red wolf was waiting patiently, Orion perched on a branch above her head. A curious Vesta and Hosni stood nearby; Vesta flicking her tail, Hosni trying to surreptitiously tuck his feet against the saddlebags to keep them from dangling.

She looked instinctively for Ilona among the group.

Ah. There was the pain.

She forced herself to focus on the members of her pack who had survived. The time spent waiting for Canisp to recover had done wonders for them; the free air, the wide forests and cool water and a warm den for Hosni to return to had brought the boy alive, and the rest and peace had left all of them in better shape. But after the long period of delirious contentment, both Hosni and Vesta were quite ready to move on. With nothing to do except relax and nothing to draw with or work on, Hosni quickly became restless and agitated, and his eagerness to do something had spread infectiously to his Horse.

If nothing else, the past fortnight had forced Canisp to acknowledge the wisdom of Jenga's insistence on finding Hosni somewhere human to live. He enjoyed Vesta's company and drank in the sight of the forest and the mountains with all the wonder of a man seeing Aslan's own country; but Canisp, once she started watching, could see the way he avoided ever being alone, glanced over his shoulder every few seconds. He never entered the den of his own volition, always waiting to be invited in first.

He loved the Wolves and trusted them—but he didn't belong in their world.

"Not yet," Orion had said. Canisp suspected he was only trying to boost her spirits, but she wanted her spirits boosted, so she let him.

Kiro was sitting next to Jenga, their noses bumping gently in a loving farewell. Canisp was slightly disappointed that the black Wolf wasn't going to accompany them; she had been hoping to talk to him on the run. Having someone stay to guard the den was more a formality than anything—the werewolves on whose land they lived were hardly likely to steal their cave while they were gone. It was really only a sign of respect. Kiro and Jenga were loners, guests on the edge of another pack's territory, and had no land to defend just as they had no voice in the werewolf pack's decisions, and to some the understanding of separation was important. It was an uncommon arrangement. Wolves tended to have an innate need for their own well-marked boundaries and a clear-cut system of leadership. Loners were an uncomfortable idea; homeless wanderers with no leader, responsible for no one, answerable to no one. A proper pack would usually allow a loner to rest on their territory for only a fortnight or so before asking them to either run with the pack or move on.

This werewolves, however, didn't seem bothered by the outsiders on its doorstep. Jenga and Kiro left when they chose, respected the borders and the border guards, and hunted on the pack's territory only with permission; in return, they had peace and privacy, if not the security that came of guarding one's own land.

"It's right for us," Kiro had said simply, and Canisp supposed that was really all that mattered.

Jenga looked up as the changeling approached. "After you."

The first leg of a new kind of journey, then; one where there was nothing behind them, nothing to flee. The earth beneath her paws was rich and loose and untainted with the scent of fear, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she had something to run to. A future, perhaps; but at the very least a friendly place and an easy path and friends at her flanks once more.

And she found she couldn't move.

"Canisp," Orion called down, casually giving his right wing a last-minute preening.

She looked up at him, pleading, and he smiled.

"I'll race you," he said.

Slowly, Canisp's ears pricked forward, and she felt something in her heart agree to it.

And then Orion gave a wild screech and fell off his branch, using the momentum to fight his way into the sky; Vesta shied for a moment before answering the cry with a bugle of her own, tossing her head as a warning to her passenger before giving a little half-rear and darting after the Eagle, with a laughing Jenga hard on their heels.

"They'll leave you behind," Kiro said, quietly amused. Canisp looked over at him, and grinned without realizing it. She whirled around, short claws digging into the thick soil, and raced after them.

She'd catch them up eventually. In the meantime she was running, with safety behind her and the world ahead and Orion's whoops of joy in her ears as he rode the wind high above.

In the meantime, they were free.


"So go on then," Jenga said with an easy smile. "Ask."

Orion looked over at the Wolf with a look of surprise. At least, Canisp assumed so; it was difficult to tell when he insisted on perching right behind her head.

"Ask what?" he inquired.

Jenga's smile didn't falter as she winked cheerfully, breaking into a short, easy lope as they crested a particularly steep portion of hill. They had lost track of Vesta and Hosni ages ago; Canisp kept expecting the Horse to slow down and take a rest, but almost three weeks of laziness seemed to be working their way out of Vesta's hooves all at once and her boy was enjoying the ride. Every so often the pair would come prancing back to check that their companions hadn't died, but then they'd be off again, following the path only in the sense that they stayed within half a mile of it and were continuing in the general direction of Anvard.

It put Canisp horribly on edge, but Jenga had finally managed to soothe her with an ironclad promise that this part of Archenland was perfectly safe and ever since they had left the last of the werewolf scent markers behind them Canisp was feeling much more at home.

Jenga paused just below the crest of the hill, waiting for Canisp to struggle up to her. The changeling's wing was all but perfect; the wound would leave a scar but Angela expected it to heal properly and leave no lasting damage. Still, it was bound and would remain so for at least, the healer insisted firmly, another three days, with flight absolutely outlawed until further notice. There was no longer any pain—just a tenderness—but the binding was wreaking merry havoc on Canisp's sense of balance and she was more than ready to have it off.

"She's been trying not to ask about the werewolves since you got here," Jenga continued with a knowing grin when Canisp fell back into step at her flank. "You noticed it too!"

"Maybe," Orion admitted. "It just seemed rude to point it out."

"I was going to ask Kiro," Canisp informed them both, swiping out with her good left wing in an attempt to clip Jenga over the head with it. The red Wolf had grown wise to her tricks, however, ducking her head without breaking stride and giving a delighted laugh at the show of spirit. Canisp couldn't help the reluctant grin that broke out in response.

"He'd tell it better than I would," Jenga allowed. "If he told it at all. It's a long story and it's not ours to tell; Kane wouldn't have told you who we were, either, if we didn't tell you first." She paused, glancing over at Canisp and meeting her eyes. "There's no harm in them," she said, momentarily serious. "There never was. They're not the werewolves you remember. They're Aslan's, they've never belonged to the Witch."

Canisp hesitated for a cluster of heartbeats before dropping her head in wary acknowledgement. "I believe you."

Jenga's tail gave a tentative wag.

"Well, let's go then," she said, the warm sparkle in her eyes flaring up again. "Let's see if we can get Vesta tired out by the time we reach Anvard, shall we?"

Canisp tried to tell Orion don't you dare, but before she could so much as open her mouth he had already shifted to grip his talons around her wing joints and given a wild screech right beside her head, and she raced East with her ears ringing.


The sun was just beginning to slip out from overhead when they wound their way down from the sunny hills and up to the gates of Anvard. They had discovered, to Canisp's displeasure and a sweating and exhausted Vesta's great chagrin, that summers in Archenland, while much more bearable than summers in Calormen, were still hot and miserable when the sun was high and had the added benefit of being sticky. A helpful Deer had pointed them in the direction of a cool stream just after midday, which had been a godsend, but all five of the travelers were more than ready to find the healers' and a friendly waystation and escape the heat.

The guards at Anvard were no less physically imposing than the ones at Tashbaan, Canisp told herself; but the cheerful inverted-lion of Archenland on their tunics and banners (a red lion on gold, sister to Narnia's gold-on-red) was much more welcoming, and they were cheerful as they waved the few travelers unlucky enough to be out in the summer heat through the gates. There was even a lazy-looking black-and-white Cat stretched out on the cool stone in the shade of the guardhouse window, and one of the younger guards scratched the fat tom beneath the chin as he watched them approach.

"Come from across the Pass, little brother?" he called out to Hosni. "That's quite the group you have!"

"From the March!" Jenga corrected. "And our friends escaped slavery in Calormen. We're visiting the healers, and looking for a position for a young Son of Adam and a Narnian Horse."

The guard looked astonished and delighted at once. "Lion's Mane!" he exclaimed; and then, seeming to notice Canisp's bandaging for the first time, "are you hurt badly, cousin? Is there any help we can offer you?"

Jenga declined politely and the group was about to move off when the second, older guard cleared his throat with a mysterious smile.

"Beggin' your pardon, cousins," he said, and Canisp recognized the Lone Islands in his voice. Vesta snorted with alarm and she felt Orion tense on her back, but strangely she didn't share their trepidation. This man, with his thick dark hair and stubble, should have put her on edge; but he smelled clean, like horses and leather and steel, and his voice and eyes were honest and bold. She liked him. "Only I ken see you've quite th' group an' I'd like to help ya, if you'll allow. Be well worth th' trouble, little sister," he added with a respectful nod to Canisp, "an' may just care for th' boy as well."

"What is it?" asked Canisp, wariness starting to build again in the pit of her stomach. The guards were friendly, terribly friendly, utterly at ease and so helpful, but she wasn't quite that fast to forget Calormen. She had no doubt Don had been a remarkably friendly man.

The guard pulled out a set of keys and unlocked a side door, pointing through the guardhouse. "Second door on th' right, turn left, firs' thing ya see, miss. Can't hardly miss it."

"Miss what?" she demanded, but the man's smile just said trust me.

And she was no longer alone. She looked back at Jenga, who returned the look with one that said you're the Alpha here.

Orion bumped the back of Canisp's head with his beak. "It's not a trap, Canisp," he said quietly. "We need the help." But she still couldn't make herself do it.

Stone walls and locked doors no not again never again-

The guard seemed to sense her trepidation. "I ken show ya, if it'd help," he offered. "Go first 'n all. Fergot what Wolves ken be like, walls an' such. Follow on, cousins, Allan'll handle the gate fer a bit." Without looking back, he slipped the keys back into his pocket and cheerfully preceded them through the guardhouse. Canisp carefully followed behind him, gauging the distance carefully. She knew she was being paranoid, but still… not so close that he can grab us, he's right-handed so follow on his weaker side but don't let him get too far ahead or he'll be able to duck out of the way of whatever trap he might spring…

The hallway was short and narrow and the walk lasted less than thirty seconds, but when they emerged back into the blinding sunlight—their guide whistling cheerfully and holding the door for them, on the other side of which was an utter lack of malicious intent—Canisp felt like she'd just outrun the entire Vereor.

"Righ' over there, miss," said the guard, pointing along the wall.

It took a moment for Canisp's vision to adjust to the sun. When she did so, she was met with a rather unremarkable sight—a small training yard, likely used by the city guard to keep in shape. A small stable formed the back wall, home to nothing but sleepy-looking bays if the single head poking out of its stall was any indication. Wooden poles and straw dummies that had seen better days were propped along the fourth, and a low split-log fence marked the final boundary. Several pairs of partners were sparring halfheartedly in the center, wearing loose cotton tunics or simply going shirtless in the sun. Instinctively, Canisp sniffed the air. Horses, sand, a great deal of sweat…

Orion fell off her back and into the dirt as she launched herself forward. Canisp barely registered it; she discovered she didn't actually need wings to fly, leaping the fence without touching it. The figure in the center of the training yard spun around in shock and instinctively raised the wooden practice sword but the changeling didn't stop, plowing into the human's chest and knocking them down with a sound that was half howl and half sob. She covered the young fighter's face in long, desperate sweeps of her tongue, bathing her in unapologetic kisses like a lapdog.

And Ilona clung to her, clutched her thick scruff like a lifeline and let Canisp lick the salt from her face as both of them struggled to breathe, laughing through their tears.