I knock my head against the wall and suppress a scream.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven –

"Somebody looks grumpy." Marco jumps up onto the crate beside me and swings his legs nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side as he assesses me.

I imagine I look far worse than simply grumpy right now. After my sword training session with Caspian this morning, in which I was tested with an increased fervour following the events in Narrowhaven, I found the tightest space on deck where I could slip between some stable crates and the railing and wedged myself there for the day with only my sketchbook and a steadily rising temper for company.

After my third failed attempt at drawing the crow's nest I was ready to rip my hair out. After the fifth I was prepared to cut the bastard down for vengeance. Now, after the seventh, I'm a hairs width away from jumping ship completely and letting the ocean wash away my sense of complete failure. How unstable must I look huddled away in this corner bent over my knees to try and brace the biting wind, hair wild and face red, knuckles turned white as I clutch the book like my life depended on it?

Marco's eyes focus on the book. "Is there something wrong with it? Are the pencils bad?"

"No, no, they're perfect. I'm the problem, I'm out of practice." I grumble, running a hand over the cover in apology. It feels like such a waste to decorate valuable pages with unsightly scribbles but feels equally wasteful to not use it at all. At the very least, my anger towards my non-functional hand is better than several of my other options, like dwelling on issues I should keep buried within the deep recesses of my mind. Marco leans over and plucks it from my hands, flicking through my half-finished sketches.

"These are good!" He says.

I snatch the book back and hold it close to my chest. "They're rough." He sighs, watching me as I move to trace the vaguely deckled edges.

"I picked it out, you know." He nods to it and hums in pride. "Caspian was busy being a King, he makes it sound like such a chore…" I roll my eyes, unsuccessfully containing my laugh at the thought of Marco attempting the same role, but the mental image of him tripping over a long, furred cloak is cut short by Caspian emerging onto the deck. Marco's head swings around, eyes narrowing. Scheming.

Caspian. Me. The crow's nest. Me. Caspian.

He grins.

"Your Majesty!" Marco leaps from the crates and skips to Caspian who pauses mid-stride and smiles.

"Marco! How are you?"

"Fine, fine," He brushes him off. "Can Amber go up the crow's nest?" My heart falters at the thought, eyes drifting to the meagre basket perched high on the mast, suddenly looking more unstable than before. And yet… A spark of excitement, like an electric shock, jolts me into action. I stand up and catch Caspian's attention.

"Do you want to?" He asks.

"Am I allowed?" From what I've seen, not many crew members go up there. Five at most, and that's across a rotary system.

"Of course. If you're comfortable climbing the ratlines, that is?" I follow his sight to the ropes in question.

A lattice of thick, sturdy knots attached to a jutting platform off the side of the ship and secured at the base of the crow's nest to form a large, gridded triangle. I walk to the railing and look into the water – and the parallel drop that awaits me if I make a mistake climbing.

"And if I fall in the sea?"

"I'll fish you out." From over his shoulder, Marco nods enthusiastically.

"How reassuring." I raise an eyebrow and look back over the climb. It's hardly more dangerous than yesterday, is it? I prepare myself with a swift nod and a smile to hold back any lingering reluctance. "After you." I gesture him forward.

Before Caspian can answer, Rhince – the sailor we took on from Narrowhaven – yells as Eustace scrambles onto the deck and knocks over a barrel, banging it in to the unfortunate sailor. Before I can fully process the fact that Eustace is running around, none too carefully, with a sizable kitchen knife, he's already swinging it at Reepicheep; who seems to be having too much fun dodging a blade that matches the length of his body.

I step forward, intent on interrupting as he hops around on the railing as he would any other day. "Shouldn't we step in? Reepicheep could get hurt." I ask, turning to Caspian who watches on with a peculiar grin.

"He's in no danger. Believe me, he's far more fearsome than he looks." I reluctantly turn back to the fight as an onlooker, heart seizing as Reepicheep stumbles back off the railing, only to return a moment later weaving between the ratlines to loom over Eustace's bent form. He swings, kicking the boy with a surprising force to send him crashing into a woven barrel. The crew roar with laughter, torn between watching Eustace pick himself up and Reepicheep who bows as if he'd just finished a two-man play.

"Look!" Lucy exclaims, kneeling to remove a piece of cloth from the barrel that had fallen on its side. It rolls to the left and knocks against the mast, those nearby its opening gasping lightly.

"Gael?" Rhince says, moving forward as if in a trace. A second later a head pokes out from above the barrel – the young girl he left in Narrowhaven. Her hands are shaking as she fumbles to her feet, clinging to her dad's shirt as they embrace.

Drinian strides through, parting the crowd with ease as he hands her an orange with a tender smile. "Looks like we have an extra crew member." Oh wow, I think, he has a soft side. Rhince strokes her hair and cradles her as if she were glass, his relief a tangible presence I feel wrong being close to. How must it feel to have somebody treat you as if you mattered more than anything in the universe? As if your presence were akin to the best medicine available? I busy myself with righting the fallen barrel as Lucy escorts Gael inside, pushing the questions aside.

People dissolve once again into their smaller groups as I stand alone in the centre feeling more thrown off than I expected to be. I can't shake the image of Rhince's expression from my mind, plastered to every corner in my head and waiting for me in the darkness when I blink. I'm reminded unkindly of London, the missing people posters that layered the street lamps following raids, a new name and a new face smothering the ones beneath it with each passing day, the remnants of those already replaced reduced to an eye or an O in their name until they're covered completely. They seemed to call out, teasing and sickening my stomach with the desperate pleas of help from those who smoothed down the paper that morning, tracing their inked face with a gentle touch, longing for the real feeling of silky hair and soft skin. A sensation kept from me throughout my life. Look at me. I'm cared for. I have somebody looking for me. I have somebody fighting for me.

Do you?

I look away from where he speaks with Caspian and Drinian in low voices, following Eustace's path down to the pantry where he's hopefully returning the knife never to be handled by him again, and eventually to the door Lucy and Gael disappeared through. I take a deep breath and leave to find them.

Lucy's closing the door to Caspian's cabin when I arrive, stopping short when she spots me shuffling awkwardly in the corridor. "Is she okay?" I ask.

She nods and spares another glance at the closed door. "She seems alright, I was just going to get her a drink."

"Should I introduce myself?"

"Well, you will be spending another month or so with her." She laughs lightly.

"Right, yes, of course. I just… I have no idea how to talk to kids."

"Wait until I get back." She pats my shoulder sympathetically, and potentially out of pity too, then leaves.

Anyone below the age of 14 is, to put it lightly, an enigma to me. I can scarcely remember how I acted or how I wanted to be treated then, having repressed most of it. For the most part, all I remember is fighting with other kids and often being bitten or pinched in the process. I don't think that's an option now.

Lucy returns and pauses opposite me. "About the bed –"

"I'll find myself a spare hammock." I jump in. At the very least, I understand that they deserve it more than I do. For one, it's a universally unspoken law that if there's ever spare benefits, be it food, shelter or other, it goes to either the youth or the elders – right now, we only harbor the former. For two, given that I arrived on the Dawn Treader first, it's only fit that they take it now. Hopefully the sounds of thirty others breathing and snoring will drown out the less savory thoughts that creep in at late hours.

"Are you sure?" Lucy presses.

"Of course."

"Thank you." She says graciously before opening the door and ushering me in first.

Gael is sat on the edge of the bed, gently swinging her legs and peeling the orange Drinian handed her. I look to Lucy who nods encouragingly. As I kneel before the bed, Gael watches me with a tilted head. "Hello Gael, I'm Amber." My voice sounds strange. Light but strained, as it were a ribbon pulled taut.

"I saw you in the town. You were staring at the King." From behind me, I hear Lucy laugh and hurry to cover it with a cough. It doesn't work.

Note: Children have no filter. I'll keep that in mind.

I lower my head as I feel a mocking heat crawl up my neck. Do I defend myself? Do I deny? Do I agree? Gael watches me, the picture of innocence, as I go through my options. This isn't even a big deal, I tell myself.

Lucy steps in, sitting on the bed beside her. "Let's keep that between us, shall we?" Gael nods and returns her attention to her orange, offering a slice to us both. A silence thickens between us, permeated by muffled voices and the wind humming against the windows, asking for entrance. What do kids like to talk about? Lucy clears her throat.

"Amber, didn't you have to go do… something?" She says, watching me with a glint in her eye. I play along, ignoring the pathetically sweeping relief the escape brings me.

"Yes! Yes. I do. I'll, um, go." I nod to them both. "Goodbye Gael, Lucy."

I close the door behind me, walk down the corridor, and start hitting my head against the wall.

Stupid. Thunk. Stupid. Thunk. Stupid! Thunk.

Note two: Kids say things for no reason.

If Lucy or Marco had said the same, it would have reason. Purpose, and probably of the teasing variety.

I wanted to make sure he was okay!

Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.

I quiet both voices in my head with another smack against the wall and return to the deck.

The lookout is conveniently stepping down from his post for a late lunch when I come out, making my way to Caspian. He frowns when I reach him. "Your forehead's red."

"I hit it against the wall." I wave my hand to dismiss his concern.

"On accident?"

"Not exactly." I rush to change the subject. "So, crow's nest?" He takes a moment, clearly considering whether or not it's worth following up, before nodding and excusing himself for a moment.

I use the time to gaze up where it resides above the sail, but with the clouds moving in the background it looks as if it's going to tip forward and I hurry to reign in the courage that scuttles away at the sight. Caspian returns swiftly with a brown leather pouch slung over his shoulder moves to the edge of the starboard ratlines. "I'll go first, show you how to get up."

He grabs the outer rope with his left hand and raises his left leg high on the railing, pulling himself upwards and swaying right until he comes to rest against the width of the ropes, climbing to the farthest edge so I have space to do the same.

I get into position, holding to the rope so tight my knuckles turn white and I feel the rough strands scrape against my palm and step first onto a box perched along the edge of the boat – I have no doubt that if I went straight for the railing my foot would slide off and I would crash onto the floor, a fate I would quite like to avoid. Already I feel unsteady, the railing now only reaching my ankles so if I were to slip there would be nothing stopping me from falling overboard. I look to Caspian who smiles reassuringly. I raise my left foot to the railing and have my right dangle in the air as I turn, guided by Caspian's hand in mine to rest against the lines like a spider in its web. They wobble gently with my weight but it's hardly more dangerous than boarding the longboat. I can do this.

"Now we climb." Caspian says, bringing the hand entwined with my own one rung higher as we scale the ropes to the top. While the crow's nest is mostly secured with thick wooden bars, the top of the ratlines is presented with a hole large enough for a person to fit through, replicated on the opposite side. I slide through and stand, immediately assaulted with a fierce wind that sends my loose hair whipping across my face.

I laugh and feel the wind steal it away for itself, lost in the rush pounding in my ears. It's brutal but brilliant, stinging my cheeks but bringing with it a sense of unreserved freedom. Up here I feel separate from everything. Every worry. Every doubt. Every memory. Like I can cast off my existence and watch it blow out over the water, carried to where I never have to see it again.

For a while I just stand there, letting the wind claim me until I'm short on air. Reluctantly, I sit down beside Caspian and cross my legs, the breeze sedated by the railing. From his leather pouch he reveals an orange, cutting it in two and offering me half. I chew quietly for a while, soaking in the moment and enjoying the simple pleasure of watching the sun greet us between parted clouds.

"Are there any hammocks free?" I ask after a while.

"What?"

"Lucy, Gael and I can't all fit in one bed." I watch as a crease forms between his eyebrows. His thinking face.

"I'll see if Drinian could move from his quar –"

"I'm fine with a hammock, Caspian."

"Are you sure? It hardly smells like fresh flowers in there."

I smirk. "Considering you've been in there for the past few weeks, I'd expect as much." He laughs and shakes his head.

"I'm sure there's a spare for you."

"Thank you."

"If you tell me why you hit your head against the wall." Tricky bastard, I curse silently. I try to plead with a look, but he simply stares back with predetermined triumph.

I sigh and hit my head against the mast poking through the centre of the crow's nest. "I was annoyed. I tried talking to Gael, but I have no idea how to speak to kids."

"You're not the only one."

"You too?"

"Oh, no. I'm great with kids. I meant Fiedan." I turn to him and nudge his shoulder with my elbow, rolling my eyes in the process. He simply laughs.

"Do you not have siblings?" I tense, slowly chewing an orange slice before answering.

"No. I think if I did, I would have fought my way off this ship kicking and screaming to get back to them."

"Now that would surely draw Aslan's attention." He muses. Aslan… So many people have uttered that name in passing. But Caspian makes it sound as if he's on the boat which, so far, I haven't considered. No one has introduced themselves as an Aslan. "Are you alright?" He asks.

"I've heard so many of you mention that name, but I just shrugged it off. Who is he?" My eyes flick to the deck down below. Is he there? A dagger disrupts my view. I turn to Caspian in confusion as he points to the hilt shaped like the head of a roaring lion.

"That's Aslan." He points to the buckle on his chest, connected to his currently empty scabbard. It too shows a lion. "This is Aslan." Then he removes a compass from his pocket and hands it to me. One side is decorated with the sun and on the other – "So is this." A lion.

"He's… a lion?" I think I would notice if a lion was onboard.

"He created Narnia." Well, it's certainly not impossible. If this journey has taught me anything so far, it's that nothing is.

"Have you met him?" His eyes grow distant.

"Yes, years ago. When Lucy and Edmund were last here and I became King." He swallows and I can see that it's a struggle for him to mentally return to the present. He turns to me and glances between my eyes. "You will too."

"Are you sure?"

"If anyone knows why you were brought here, it's Aslan."

"Here I was thinking all the lions were just because Narnians really liked cats." He laughs briefly before we collectively descend into a thoughtful silence. I should ask for that story sometime, the one he's clearly trapesing through right now. There's something about that name, Aslan, that evokes calm with the briefest utterance. No wonder his image is everywhere; the wheel, the sail, the lamps, the walls, the bedposts. Even the door handles. Do they feel his presence within every engraved mane?

My eyes lazily trace the horizon as I imagine what it would be like to meet him. I've never seen a lion in person before. How big will he be?

Hold on.

I stand abruptly and stare out at sea, noting Caspian rising too. "What is it?"

"I think it's land." I rub my eyes and check again. A measly dot, but that's as good as a sprawling golden castle at this point. Beside me, Caspian checks his compass.

"Our first step beyond the Lone Islands. Would you like to do the honours?"

"Can I?"

He gestures me forward. "The stage is yours." I lean over the railing and wait for a break in the wind. Then, I yell.

"LAND HO!" We grin and watch as the crew scramble to the railings, looking over to see for themselves. Drinian and Tavros work on adjusting the wheel so we're pointing right at it and I start to bounce excitedly as the news spreads, more people making their way to the deck and assembling the fixture we attach the longboats to.

"We should get there by tonight. It will be late but there's no time to waste." Caspian says, his eyes alight with wonder as he looks out to our new destination. What must it feel like, knowing you're about to explore fresh land in a kingdom you can call your own? Before I can ask, he's ducking below the railing and back onto the ratlines, waiting for me to join.

I do so, albeit extremely tentatively, disliking how I have no choice but to look down as I find purchase on the ropes.

When we reach the deck, Caspian is drawn away by Drinian, the latter giving me a look easily interpreted as 'don't follow'. Instead, I join Marco and Edmund sat against the stern. We chat idly for the afternoon, Marco and I occasionally offering Edmund help when it comes to descaling Lord Bern's sword, gifted to him by Caspian yesterday, to which he declines each time.

At dinner there's less talk about what we may find than there was when we approached Narrowhaven, presumably due to how wrong we were with our guesses then.

It's only when the grey clouds make way for a garishly pink sunset that we're close enough to the island to see more than just a bulky, indistinguishable shape. It's far flatter than Doorn, a large stretch of sand and grass that reaches farther than we can determine, unwaveringly still.

"If the Lords followed the mist east they would have stopped here. We'll spend the night on shore." Caspian tells Drinian. They're on the forecastle by the wheel, almost directly above where I hide beside the staircase leading to it, I can just see the glint of the spyglass they're using when I look up.

Footsteps. I step away from the staircase and smile sheepishly at Caspian as he descends onto the deck, holding his hands out to be as if to plead when he notices me. "No – Not again."

"Oh, come on! I'm not going to be kidnapped twice." I poke his shoulder and try to school my expression into a believable frown but it's hard when his resolve is already chipping at the seams.

"You're too new to this."

"I'll find a way there somehow." Three longboats have been readied for travel and I use the moment now to look to them before meeting his eyes again, watching him crumble.

"Fine," He sighs. "But you stick beside me. Got it?"

"Fine, mother. I –"

He holds my arm and leans close. "I promised you I would get you home. I intend to keep you in one piece for it."

Oh.

My stomach twists painfully as I look between his eyes. It's a look I've only ever witnessed second-hand, watching on as kids on the playground define themselves as the barrier between their friend and a bully, fathers staring resolutely at their sons standing stiff, preparing for war. The set eyes and resilient jaw of those who protect another not because they couldn't protect themselves, but simply because they had an ability to protect those they cared for. Small declarations of amity I craved, replicating them for those who looked at me and saw someone rash. Brutish. Impulsive. Someone who would cease to exist for them within a blink.

But now here it is. First-hand.

And the feeling is mutual.

"I know, thank you. But I can handle this." My voice is a whisper, in danger of cracking if it were more substantial.

Caspian straightens, his hand loose as it trails down to my wrist before he turns back to the forecastle.

"Drinian, it's time."