Hey you guys,

Thanks for your lovely reviews, it is so very kind of you! See, I update really fast with the proper encouragement. And soon, summer will be here, and then I'll produce nearly a chapter a day (this will be spread out over my other three stories though; Mary Sam 2, the sequel to I was King of Narnia and this one)

Good times are coming! Pray for me during my finals? ;-)

Love,

Pippin B

Chapter 4

Pooh Gone Mad

A trip down river wasn't entirely my cup of tea. It was more like a hose drench of the bluest water in the world and having no ability to enjoy it, because you were stuck in a rowboat with a cranky High King who poked you in the leg with his boot every time he drew the oars backwards.

I wished I hadn't worn the dress. I felt slightly damp all over with sweat and the sun glare on the water was giving me a bad headache. I felt like the smelliest person in the word. I wanted to shower really, really badly. I wonder how Susan and Lucy expect to shave their legs later? I don't suppose Peter's sword would work? I really should have brought a small dagger. Hmm, I think Lucy has one…maybe she doesn't even shave yet. Wait, did they even DO that during the forties in England? What if I'm acting like an over concerned American freak? I glanced around, and everyone was deep in thought and silent. Except for Lucy—she was looking at the gorge walls rising over our heads and admiring the view.

"They're so still," she said sadly.

"They're trees, what'd you expect?" Trumpkin asked gruffly.

"They used to dance," Lucy replied, as if it had been the most beautiful thing in the world.

I dunno. If I walked into a clearing and saw a few trees doing the boogie, I'd probably have a heart attack.

"Can we stop for a minute?" I asked after a time. I'd been trying not to think about it, but, there's no going around it.

"Why?" Peter huffed at the oar.

"I need to use the loo," I imitated his voice—almost to the point of perfection—minus the manliness.

Peter turned red. He resembled one of those funny baked pigs with the apple in its mouth. "Can you wait five minutes?" he asked, blushing. "Trumpkin says we'll be at our stopping point just around the bend."

"Okay," I replied, humming to myself. "I look once more—just around the river bend! Beyond the shore! Lalalala…" I went into a rhythm of 'la's'. That was my defense when I couldn't remember the lyrics.

"So, Susan," I asked, "How exactly does one go about doing their business in the middle of the wilderness?"

Susan flushed too. Come on, people! It's nature! If we felt embarrassed about it all the time, we'd explode sooner or later.

Edmund replied briskly, "Well, first thing you do, is find a…"

"I think that's a conversation for another time," Susan interjected, keeping her eyes at the bow. "Mind your manners, Ed."

I sighed and sat back, squinting my eyes against the white blindness of the sun rays bouncing off the water.

Sooner or later, rather later than I wanted but sooner than I supposed, we felt gravel scraping the bottom of the boat. We had come out the gorge to a broad, shallow crossing, and were now pulling onto the rocky shore. Pine trees towered ahead, the dark blue mountains towered even higher, and the beach felt like the Pacific Northwest.

We scrambled out, and I tried to help tie down things. I reached into the boat and thrust my hand into a large coil of rope. Then it was stuck. I wiggled my fingers, but it only became more entangled. I used my other hand to try and figure out how the rope seemed to magically entwine itself around my hand, pulling coils off only to find more.

Ed came up behind me and wordlessly took the whole bundle of rope off of my hand and tossed it aside. Ed glanced at me and grinned evilly, but said nothing of my clumsy blunder.

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Anytime," Edmund said nonchalantly. Suddenly, the rope was back in his hands. Both of us groaned 'un-happenings!' inwardly I'm sure—but neither of us said it out loud. He began untangling the rope just for kicks.

"You've been awfully nice to me," I said matter-of-factly, "Any particular reason why?"

"It's like this," Edmund turned away from his rope-untangling and met my eyes, looking serious and sweet—like my little brother back in my world. It really is a shame he's missing this. He would have loved it.

"I know what its like being the odd one out," Edmund explained, looking rueful. "And always feeling either left behind or unwanted. It really messes with your head."

"Are you saying I'm the odd one out?" I asked, knowing he probably wasn't.

"No," he replied, "But since I know how it feels I'm making sure it doesn't happen to you. If it can drive one to a point of being a traitor, I'm keeping my eye on you. We've got enough trouble as it is."

"You're saying I'd turn you over to Moosehead?!" I cried.

"Miraz," corrected Susan from the distance.

Edmund growled in frustration. "Oh, stop being a girl and twisting my words around!"

"I am not a girl!" I snapped.

Edmund's mouth dropped open and his chin nearly touched the ground.

"Oh, wait—I meant to say…" I cleared my throat, stomped my foot, and tried again; "I am not twisting your words!"

"That's better," Edmund went back to untying knots in the rope. "Can't a fellow be nice and not be taken for having ulterior motives?"

"Where I come from, there always is," I replied. "Well…okay, not all the time, but there's so many stupid boys when I come from that I question everything."

"I hope you get over it." He finished untangling the rope and held out an arm length of it, smooth and sturdy.

"Yeah," I said uncomfortably, "Me too. Hey, Ed," I lowered my voice, "Do you still feel like the odd one out?"

Edmund glanced at Peter, who was standing their trying to look important and surveying the landscape. I really wanted to poke him in the abs and see what happened. Maybe he'd deflate—like a balloon. Or he'd pop like the muscle man in the "Where's Waldo?" books.

"No," he said in a stony voice.

"Liar," I said flippantly.

He glanced at me. "Let's keep this between ourselves, shall we?"

"Pinky promise," I smiled.

"Why pink?" he asked, disgusted.

"Excuse me?"

"Why not gold, or red?"

"Um," I tried not to laugh. "Okay—golden promise."

"Hello there!" Lucy called, but her voice sounded far away. Edmund and I looked towards her, and she was just over a small rise in the shore. She had her back to us—she was looking at something else.

It was a large, hulking black shape. It made a rough grunt deep in its throat.

"Why, it's Pooh Bear," I grinned. "Winnie the Pooh!" I took a step forward, but Edmund thrust an arm in front of me.

"Don't MOVE, your Majesty!" Trumpkin said very loudly but calmly.

Oh my freakin' gosh! It's like that old horror movie Night of the Grizzly!

Lucy turned slowly and met our eyes, her face betraying confusion—and even terror. Suddenly, the bear was hefting its massive muscled body and standing on its hind legs. It took two steps, growling. Then, it was back on all fours.

Lucy began to run.

"Wait, stop!" I shouted. I pulled my sword clumsily out of the sheath and dashed forward, tripping over the skirts. STUPID DRESS!

Susan had an arrow stringed to the bow. "Stop, leave her alone!" she shouted.

"Susan, shoot! It's a Mad Pooh!" I screamed. "It doesn't know English!"

The bear was on top of Lucy in a minute—it took four steps to get to her—and I'm sure it would only take one bite to finish her off. Lucy fell to the ground in a heap.

"Lucy!" Peter screamed.

Just as the bear rose to a full height in order to pounce and crush her, an arrow zipped over Lucy's head and into its stomach. The bear roared in a rage and crumpled to the ground.

It was Trumpkin who put down his empty bow calmly and headed for the carcass. Wow, so it's up to the hobbit to act on things.

Peter was at Lucy's side in a moment, helping her to her feet and pulling her into his arms. His sword was drawn—but as Pooh Gone Mad was now Pooh Be Dead—it didn't seem needed.

"Why didn't you shoot?" I asked Susan dubiously.

"I thought maybe it was a talking Bear," whispered Susan, more to herself than me. "I don't think it could even speak at all!"

"You may find Narnia a more savage place that you remember," Trumpkin said pointedly, casually pulling out a knife and kneeling by the dead bear. "There's a good bit of meat on this bear and best not to be put to waste." There was a silence, and he turned and looked at us. "If they treat you like a dumb animal long enough—that's what you become."

"I was afraid… it may have been an old friend," Susan stuttered.

"No," Trumpkin smiled sadly. "It only wanted the Little Girl for breakfast." And with that, he plunged the knife into the Bear's foreleg and began cutting.

Lucy whimpered and hid her face in Peter's side.

"Um," I hesitated, "What about those survival skills we were going to discuss later, Susan?"

Susan glanced at me sharply. "It's not a Latin exam. Just do it like you'd do it anywhere!"

"Oh!" I said, trying to look like that didn't sting. She is crankier than she appears.

"Don't wonder off too far," Peter advised.

"Well, isn't that the stupidest request I've heard all morning," I grumbled in an Indian accent, heading for the tree line. "I'm not going to New Zealand or anything! I just need to relieve myself! And I want privacy, so you can keep your Sir Highness-ish on shore, thank-you!"

"I didn't understand a word she just said," Peter whispered to Lucy.

"She does have a very thick accent," Lucy agreed, not even mentioning that it was a different one than normal.

"Well, that was an adventure," I said not more than five minutes later. Everyone glanced up with looks both annoyed and embarrassed. I joined Peter's side by the rowboat where he was taking things out of it. Edmund stood on the other side.

"Oh, bother, bother un-happenings," he muttered.

I glanced up.

"The rope is tangled again," he held up the rope to prove his point. Not only was it tangled, but it was tied in about a dozen Boy Scout knots too.

"We need to move on," Peter said, handing me my book bag and distributed sticky packages of bear meat wrapped up in very wide leaves.

And so we did.

"Oooooooooone daaaaaaaaay," I sang sappily after minutes of walking through dense underbrush.

"What are you singing?" asked Lucy as we tromped along.

"It's your theme song," I replied.

"My theme song?"

"Oh yes," I said, wondering if I should bother explaining.

"How peculiar," Lucy mused, not bothering to ask, so I was saved the trouble.

"You know," I said after another moment or so, "I am missing the premiere of my favorite movie."

"What movie?"

"The next Narnia movie, but I don't know what it's about anymore," I confessed.

"A NARNIA MOVIE?" Lucy stopped in her tracks, and everyone's eyes were suddenly on me.

"Um, just…kidding?" I tried.

Lucy sighed and everyone else was suddenly focused on the small trail before us. The trail led through scratchy ferns and red dirt under a thick canopy of green sunshine.

"Does any one want to play a game?" I asked.

"Not really," said Trumpkin.

"I spy something—short and cranky!" I laughed.

"Pippin," Peter and Susan said at the same time.

I stopped laughing. "Hey, not funny."

"I like this game," Trumpkin added.

"You didn't want to play. You're out," I fumed.

"I spy something large and gray," Edmund called.

"A hair that just popped out on Peter's head?" I suggested.

"No," Edmund said soberly, "A large gray rock blocking our path."

And so he was right. Small hills and little cliffs were jutting out all over the place, making me feel like I was getting crammed into the mazes of Emyn Muil from Lord of the Rings. I expected Gimli to come running out at any time and hug Trumpkin—perhaps his long lost brother.

We sighed glumly and had to bear farther south than we wanted to. I had the sinking feeling that we were lost now, becoming lost, going to be lost later, or that we've been lost for the past few hours and didn't know it.

"Let's face it, Mr. Frodo, we're lost," I said, wishing I could quote from the story I was in—but I couldn't remember it—and I couldn't even recall the title anymore. The book inside my bag was not only blank inside but had a pure brown cover as well.

In fact, I decided to start keeping a journal inside.

"Who are you talking to?" Peter asked, a hand on his sword hilt.

"Don't loose your temper, fancy pants, I'm talking to myself. It happens sometimes when everyone else is boring."

And for punishment, I received another two hours of complete and utter silence—whilst I randomly quoted to try and entertain myself.

"You'd best start believing in ghost stories Miss Turner—you're in one!"

"Parley?"

"That's the one! Parley!"

"A red sun rises—blood has been spilt this night."

"Engage into hyper space."

"Mr. Spock—weapons please."

"He's dead Jim!"

"We put the canons on Bootstrap's bootstraps!"

"May the Force be with you."

"I agree—bad idea."

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"Remember—with great power—comes great responsibility."

"Men are like cats; feed them, pet them, admire them, and they'll purr."

"I'm not very good with facial cues!"

"Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity."

"I've been dreaming of true loves kiss…"

"When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

"You're one of the worst pirates I've ever heard of."

"But you HAVE heard of me."

"Well Jones—at least you haven't forgotten how to show a lady a good time!"

"Save me."

"What?"

"SAVE ME!"

"Helloooooo…I'm Doctor Van…"

"Wahahaha, Billy Bones, its me…Blind Peeeew!"

And even after ten minutes of this, I drove myself into annoyance with the world, the Pevensies, the bearded hobbit, myself, and a random crow that kept cawing. I shut up and walked in silence like the rest of them.

Stay tuned folks. Something cool might happen soon. Don't bet on anything too exciting though. Unless you count traveling really excited. Maybe you do.

"Hold on a second!" I called after a bit. "I need to go to the bathroom again!"

Read and review my little people! Sorry, I'm so addicted to this story I'm been doing quantity instead of quality—I'm going to work on my finals now so the next chapter will be much better—I can assure you.

Welcome to all new reviewers!

Bye for now,

Pip