"This is very grave news, indeed. There is nothing, to my knowledge, that can cure the bite of a werewolf." King Lune sighed sadly. Both groups, now combined, had taken refuge in a glade off of the road after the battle. The underbrush was thick enough to hide us but not so much that we couldn't find out way back to the road. Our camp was in a small clearing. Again, normally I would enjoy being in such a place but the situation did not allow it.

"Ouch!" I yelped as the healer from the Archenlandian party tried to make sure my wounds didn't get infected.

I then mumbled apologetically, "Sorry. They hurt. A lot."

"Don't worry that much, sire," The healer smiled softly. "Nobody's sure what to do about the effects of the bites but at least we can stop them from slowing your journey." What I would have liked to say was, I feel so reassured, but that wasn't exactly kingly, or respectful, behavior.

Stormfeather asked tentatively, "Shall we continue through Archenland tomorrow, or rest here?"

"I don't care that I've been bitten by a werewolf. We'll only have to worry about it on the next full moon. We continue. But, um, Oreius, when is the next full moon?" I asked.

The centaur replied, "Tomorrow night, my king."

"That might be… a bit of a problem…" I gulped.

"How hard can it be, King Peter? I don't think it'd really be that hard t' contain yerself." Herelifim said.

I warned him, "Do not explore unfamiliar territory in the dark. You may get in trouble." It was a Narnian proverb I had learned one day, when I was having battle practice. I was sparring with Edmund and when I tried a move that was for only very experienced swordfighters, I ended up on my backside with most of the beings in the courtyard giggling. That's when Edmund had said it, and pulled me up. I never did learn where he heard it, but it was said around the castle often.

Herelifim grumbled, "I suppose ye have a point." I always held back a snicker when he spoke; his red beard shook everywhere and made him look akin to some wild half-human beast. Like a werewolf, I thought bitterly.

"What are we going to do about… tomorrow night?" Stormfeather inquired uneasily.

"Cross the bridge when you reach it." I grumbled. Then I caught myself. Peter, you bad mood is showing. I told myself sternly and apologized.

Oreius looked to me and said firmly, "My king, you are allowed to show your feelings. When you keep them to yourself, they keep building up until you can't hold it anymore. And that's when somebody's feelings are hurt."

I realized he was right and sighed, "What are we going to do? Susan, Edmund, and Lucy aren't here, so they can't take control for me. We have to rescue the others, so there's no possibility of turning back, especially now that we're about halfway there. Worst of all, there's nothing that's going to stop me if I… if I-"

Stormfeather interrupted, "There's no need to continue, King Peter. We all know of what may or may not happen. I believe I am speaking for all of us when I say you are not alone. We will do all we can to help you, and if you must go back, we will press on. If one of us dies, we will press on. We will do everything within our power to retrieve your siblings, as you are. I will repeat what I said: You are not alone. And if all goes wrong and you are the only one left, the lion is always with you. And I will fight to the death for your siblings."

Herelifim rose to his feet. "And I will, too!"

"As will I." Oreius followed.

"And I!" Falahir cried.

"They are not my kin, but I shall." King Lune stated. A chorus of reassuring shouts came over me like a wave and I realized Stormfeather was right. My siblings were facing death and slavery, but I was far from alone. And with the help of fiercely loyal friends, I would rescue them.

Well how do you like that? It's so very long… um, short… never mind. Well, I'm pretty proud with how it turned out. Any reviews? Pretty please? Oh, and don't worry, Peter will be fine in the end.

Peter: There goes my planned rant.

Me: I didn't want the readers to have to read such a monstrous thing anyways. I saw it; there are ninety-three vulgar words.

Peter: Ninety-four.

Me: WHATEVER!