(If you know it, I don't own it.)

Chapter 10 Aslan's Camp

Up became down, left became right, and the freezing water only became colder as the race to the surface began. Ron lashed out, trying to grab hold of anything to help him out, but nothing was there to grab. His hands only swiped the water of the river. His lungs started to protest at the absence of air. His struggle became more frantic, more desperate. Seconds drifted off into minutes, but it seemed much longer than that to Ron. As his body was sent twirling around deeper and further in the sadistic river, the precious air that had once been in his lungs left, escaping from him and turning into merciless bubbles, teasing him as they floated away.

Stabbing pain mixed in with the sharp burning pain all over his skin. His vision started blurring and darkening. Nothing he did seemed to make the slightest difference. Next to being eating alive, murdered by a spider, and being set aflame, drowning was right up there on the How-I-Don't-Want-To-Die list.

As all hope seemed lost, Ron felt a pull. He didn't care what happened as long as his death was quick. However, seconds later, his head tore away from the river's greedy clasp and crisp air entered his longs, clearing his vision.

"Ron!" squealed Hermione, running to his lifeless body as Mr. Beaver dragged him onto the opposite bank from the wolves. Hermione knelt down beside Ron, Harry, Peter, Susan, and Lucy right next to her.

Choking up water, gasping for breath, and shaking all over, Ron tried to sit up. Hermione helped him a little. Ron glared at the water that had, only seconds before, tried to claim his life.

"What the bloody hell were you tryin to do?" yelled Mr. Beaver. "If you can't swim, you shoulda told us that!"

"I can too swi…" but he was interrupted by a coughing fit which made Mrs. Beaver glare heartlessly at her husband's lack of concern.

"There, there dear," she cooed, stroking his red hair back, out of his eyes. "Now, we better get going, you traveled quite some distance down that river. But never fear, that was the direction we were going anyway," she said lightly.

"I thought we were going to follow that trial back there?" Mr. Beaver asked. He quickly shut up as another heartless glare came his way.

Helping Ron up, Harry and Peter half dragged half carried their extremely wet friend, following closely behind Mr. and Mrs. Beaver and the girls, Hermione glancing back every five minutes.

As the group walked many changes happened. The cold temperature warmed up causing the already melting snow to disappear altogether. Soon, even the puddles had gone, leaving a green trail behind them. Flowers began to bloom in all sorts of colors. Red roses, purple lilacs, white lily-on-the-valleys, and blue daffodils popped up all over the place, sending their sweet aroma into the air.

The trees grew buds and within minutes the buds had grown into luscious green leaves that swayed in the wind. The wind no longer fiercely blew cold air at them, instead a warmer, friendlier breeze took its place and round its way here and there and everywhere.

Where dark clouds had circled the sky for years, bright golden rays broke through and the thick clouds became nothing more than mere wisps in the light blue sky.

The rein of the White Witch was ending and the rule of Aslan had started. With this knowledge, the eight made their way onward towards the Stone Table.

( )

"There, that should do it," smirked Tumnil, stepping back to watch his masterpiece. The five escapees were held hostage by three trees, several thick ropes wrapped tightly around them securing them against the hard rough bark.

Draco and Edmund shared one tree while Crabbe and Goyle shared another. Pansy had her tree to herself in-between the boys. Her glare shot razors at each one in turn.

"Oh, who cares about a map, you think too much," she griped. "Oh now who wishes they had a map?"

"Um, Pansy, a map would do us no good now," retorted Edmund. "It could have been helpful before."

Edmund quickly quieted down as Pansy gave him a death glare.

"Quiet!" barked Maugrim, his tail twitching slightly. His ears were alert and he jumped a little with every sound.

"Why's he scared?" whispered Goyle.

"Shh!" hissed Pansy, nodding her head towards their captors. They were all alert and jumpy.

"Sir, is she, is Her Majesty coming?" asked a small voice. A pathetic excuse of a rat was bowed low to Maugrim, trembling all over.

"Yes, Her Majesty will be arriving shortly and you'd better hope she fairs you better than them," he jerked his head towards the three trees. The rat gulped and quickly retreated back to his duties.

A cold shiver ran down the children's backs. No one could stop thinking about the graveyard full of statues. Did it hurt to be turned to stone?

Edmund couldn't stop thinking about Mr. Tumnus either. His body would be out somewhere in the graveyard, his hands trying to cover his terrified face. His red scarf would never again fly in the wind. Edmund tried not to panic at this thought. But there was no way out, nowhere to turn or to hide. Nothing could save them now.

( )

"Hurry!" shouted Mr. Winkle. "C'mon, hurry up!"

"Mr. Winkle, what is there that we must "hurry up"?" asked Mrs. Beaver, almost out of breath.

Mr. Winkle had been sent ahead nearly a half hour ago to make sure they were traveling a safe route. The flat land they had once been walking upon grew hills, taller and taller.

With all the new changes that were going on, the one everyone liked the most was the warmth, especially Ron whose clothes were now dry.

"Hurry! You'll see, you'll see!" squeaked the mouse. He was nearly jumping up and down with excitement.

Mr. Beaver was the first to climb to the top of the steepest hill the group had yet encountered. One look down and he was just as excited as his mouse friend.

"Don't dilly-dally. Get a move on!" he urged.

Peter, Harry, and Ron gave each other a look then they dashed to the top of the hill. When they stood beside Mr. Winkle and Mr. Beaver, they let out shouts of joy. Ron started waving his tomahawk in the air and prancing about making war cries.

"What is all the fuss about," asked Susan, but no one from the top gave her an answer. Sighing deeply she turned to her two companions.

"Shall we?"

Lucy and Hermione nodded their heads and as one, raced up the hill, closely followed by Mrs. Beaver. What they saw at the bottom of the hill was the last thing they expected.

Colorful tents were set up all along the small valley caused by the hills. Flags bearing a lion blew in the breeze. Cheerful noise floated up to them. The valley was full of activity. Armor was being made, swords were being tested, and arrows flew in the air to land on their mark. Centaurs, tigers, griffins, fawns, and many more creatures they didn't know the names of were talking to each other, singing and playing music. In the very center of the camp the largest and grandest tent of all was set up. It held the biggest flag of the camp on its top, the lion dancing in the wind.

"Aslan," Mr. Winkle said in awe. "This is Aslan's camp."

At the very sound of Aslan, everyone felt a chill run down their spine, yet in a good way. The name Aslan held fear, respect, but also tenderness and love. No one could explain why they felt this way, just hearing the name, but they did none the less.

"Suppose we ought to go and meet them?" Peter inquired a little nervously.

"I suppose we must," Mr. Beaver whispered. Looking at his wife he grabbed her hand and started down the hill into the valley, the six right behind him.