Disclaimer: Misery and hope are mine to experience but not to own. The same applies to Narnia.
Beta'd by trustingHim17, who in addition to catching my mistakes is willing to debate interesting subjects – like whether or not Peter's promise, made under duress, is binding.
OOOOO
Peter woke. He kept his eyes closed, wary this time. His hands still throbbed, his head ached, and from the feel of things, his wrists were bound behind him. He was lying on his side on dirt and stone, his elbow pressing uncomfortably into his rib cage. Around him was quiet. An absolute, muffling quiet. There were no creaking trees, no rustling leaves, no sighing wind, no sounds of water, not even footsteps. There was no sound at all.
And while his headache might approve, Peter's common sense told him the silence was not a good sign. Cautiously he opened his eyes.
It was dark as well as quiet, though there was a torch somewhere behind him, casting flickering light on the curving stone a hand's breadth from his nose. He was in a tiny cave—sort of. He blinked, pushing his head closer to the stone. There were gouges from picks, dents from shovels—the alcove he was in had been dug out. As quietly as he could, he put his hands to the ground behind him to push himself over—and bit his lip in pain. Not a good idea to use his hands, then; he twisted himself as quietly as he could, till his back was to the wall and he could look the other way.
The alcove he was in could hold perhaps six men lying down and was dug a little shorter than Peter's height. Metal bars ran from the cave roof to the dirt below, chained on both sides to the rock at the top and bottom of the bars. A barred metal door hung in the middle, and Peter didn't doubt it was locked. Beyond the bars was a much larger cave, a hallway into which half of the Cair's Great Hall could fit, and along the other side Peter could see two more barred alcoves. Three torches lit the entire place, one on the wall just outside Peter's prison.
Peter took a breath. The first sensible thing to do, he knew, would be to try the door. Painfully, resting his shoulder against the wall to maintain his balance, he pushed himself up, willing his vision to stop shifting. His head was most unhappy, and since it was his brain arguing with his head about what to do, the battle was taking place at very close quarters and his nerves didn't like it.
But he'd done this before, and he waited, as patiently as he could, till his head stopped protesting and he could see again. He stood straight, foregoing the wall, and waited till he was sure his footsteps would be steady (and hopefully stealthy), and moved towards the bars. The first step made him blink in surprise; he looked down and realized his boots, belt, cloak, and vest were missing. That will make anything that needs doing much more inconvenient, he heard Edmund snipe in his head, and he almost smiled in response, taking another step.
Inconvenient does not mean impossible, my brother.
Your oath does, the Just's voice reminded him. Or had you forgotten that?
Nonsense. If I am unable to escape, the only alternative is to conquer that which holds me, by some other means than force. Peter's thoughts paused; normally this would be when he asked if his brother were with him, already knowing the answer. But in this case, his brother was most decidedly not with him. And he'd reached the bars anyway.
There was one more cell beside his, the torch between them. The cave was empty; there were no sentries, only him and the bars.
Unable to test the metal with his fingers, he leaned his shoulder against them gradually, pushing with more and more force. The links of the chains pushed out the breadth of a finger, but had no more give than that. Peter turned around, pulling his elbows up and trying to reach the lock on the barred door with his tied hands, but he could not reach.
He did not give up, knowing sometimes persistence conquers the hardiest of obstacles. But after his wrists began bleeding and his elbows were aching, he acknowledged that he was getting nowhere. He went back to the wall, sliding down it and leaning his head back gently.
The cages, he thought to himself. He lifted his head again to look at them. There were enough of them to hold perhaps 25 souls. His captor was a practiced slaver, that much he could see. Only Peter was to be exchanged for slaves, and if Peter remembered correctly, the man expected gold for those slaves, which meant he already had a buyer for the slaves too. The man had gone from slaving to kidnapping the High King; what would have tempted him to do that?
And how did Peter stop it? For Peter guessed, with a wry twist in his thoughts, that Aslan had permitted such a thing to happen that Peter might once again fight those who did evil. Even if they were no longer in Narnia, a thought that took away most of Peter's humor.
But how was he to stop it?
They would have to feed him. Eventually, Peter thought, suddenly aware of the hunger rumbling his stomach. And if he could not resist, he could gain information.
And once the trade took place and he was given to whomever this buyer was, Peter's oath was no longer binding. Peter grinned alarmingly at the thought, then stiffened.
He heard something.
Not, he thought, straining his ears, human footsteps. It was a soft, pattering sound, familiar but unrecognizable, and suddenly a soft thump.
He knew that sound.
Where had he heard it, if he could not recognize what it was?
Cair Paravel; he'd heard it there; he'd been staring down a hallway. The pattering grew louder, a scritch, scritch added to it, like tiny claws-
Like a Squirrel running on stone, Peter realized, getting quickly to his feet. He closed his eyes at the dizzying spell, fighting for control, and heard the noise stop.
"High King Peter?" squeaked a tiny voice, echoing in the large hall outside. "High King Peter, are you here? Please be here, please be here, I didn't mean to lose you, and I'm los-"
"Patterfeet?" Peter called softly, not wanting to alert anyone nearby. "Good cousin, is that you?" Peter heard a gasp, and then running feet. Peter made his way to the bars, stepping into the torchlight, and saw the large Squirrel scurrying down the walls, jumping over the cell next to his, squeezing himself through the bars, and then leaping up, straight onto Peter's chest.
Peter lost his balance, falling backwards, unable to catch himself on his bound and hurting hands. He hit with a thump that made him groan, but he quickly set the pain aside at the motions of the Squirrel on his chest.
Patterfeet was shaking, claws dug into Peter's shirt, black eyes staring, and sides heaving with his gasps. Peter pulled himself up, folded his legs to make a warm place to cradle the Narnian and bent closer to the frightened Squirrel.
"Hush," Peter soothed, looking him over. Patterfeet's fur was clumped in places, bristling, and smelled of salt water. "Hush, good cousin, hush. Breathe." Patterfeet shut his eyes, though his teeth were still chattering, clacking together loudly. "Better," Peter said quietly, when the Squirrel stopped shaking, and his breathing evened out. "Do not mistake me, your presence does me good, but what quest led you here?"
Patterfeet let go of Peter's shirt, stepping onto his legs so he could sit up and look Peter in the eyes. "Oreius made me watch you, Your Majesty, sir, so I hid in your saddlebags, since I didn't know if I could keep up with your horse, sir, and I couldn't, and then when you stopped I jumped out to go get breakfast and you almost heard me and I didn't want you to, because you said this was for Kings and Queens only, but Oreius had told me to follow you, so I tried to do both, and I went to go get breakfast, and I didn't go far, I didn't, but then bad things happened and I heard them and came back, and I was ready to fight them, sir, because they were mean to Queen Susan, but I jumped for another limb so I could help fight by dropping on their heads, but I was scared and got it wrong, and fell, and hit my head, and when I woke up Queen Susan was gone, and is she ok, King Peter?"
"My sister is well, praise Aslan," Peter responded, trying to calm the Squirrel once again. "Quietly, cousin, that none may hear—but how did you get from ground to here?"
"Well, you weren't fighting, sir, and Oreius said to do what you did, so when they knocked you on the head and carried you away, I followed, sir, as fast as I could, and humans are slow, so I kept up. And when they left the trees for the boat, I ran along the shore and grabbed the outside of the boat. I held on tightly, very tightly, and got wet, and I don't like the sea, sir, can we never go there again? And they went from the boat to a bigger boat, and hit you, and I almost fought them then, but I fell off into the water because my paws were cold, and then they said they would keep you asleep for a long time, so I fell asleep too, and found you, and you didn't wake up and didn't wake up and didn't wake up, and then it was night again, so I slept too, sir, because I was scared," and Patterfeet looked down, avoiding Peter's eyes, "and when I woke up they were near a cliff, and we went into the mountains, but I had to follow farther away, sir, because if they saw me I couldn't help you, and when they went inside a cave they went different ways, and I've been looking for you forever, sir." One paw rubbed against another nervously. "I'm sorry, King Peter. I didn't mean to make you fall down, sir, I'm really, really sorry."
"Hush, good cousin, all is forgiven," Peter said, leaning forward to touch Patterfeet's bent head gently with his own. "Be of good courage, as of the like you have already shown. And your report was well, also, brave soldier," he added, when Patterfeet looked up with shining eyes. "Clear and chronological, which is well for Our understanding. Now, good cousin, take but a moment to breathe." He watched as Patterfeet calmed under the praise, better able to do more since what he had already done was well received.
"What can I do, King Peter?" Patterfeet asked a few moments later.
"My hands, good cousin," Peter said, holding quite still when Patterfeet leaped onto his shoulder, then down a moment later. "Do not bite the ropes!" he added quickly as he felt the Squirrel's teeth. "If you but untie them, we may convince them I did so by my own skill, and your presence stay secret." He breathed a soft sigh of relief, inaudible but keenly felt, a few minutes later when the ropes gave way under the tugging of Patterfeet's paws. "Well done," he praised, bringing his arms around and twisting his wrists to stretch them, though that tugged at the congealing blood. He brought his hands up and examined them; the cuts were filled with dirt and already scabbing.
"Oreius says cuts should be cleaned," a hesitant voice said near his knee, and Peter found Patterfeet's eyes fixed on the cuts and the rawness of his wrists.
"But we've no water, and must do without," Peter responded wryly.
"I can get water."
Peter hesitated. "Without being seen by enemy or slave?" Patterfeet nodded, eyes carrying back up to Peter's. "If you can do so with care, water would be welcome."
"There's a bucket in the next cave, sir, with cups by it. I'll be back in a moment!" Patterfeet ran through the bars, jumped on the wall (Peter heard him), and very soon his soft footfalls faded. Peter took the time to stretch his arms, wrists, and fingers, wrap up the rope and tie it around his waist (rope is often useful, he heard Oreius repeating), and test the bars. They did not budge, but just having his arms free made him feel more capable. Before long he heard Patterfeet, his steps slightly heavier, and soon the Squirrel came in view holding a cup almost large enough for a regular squirrel to dunk itself in, clasped in both paws and held to his chest. The cup did not fit through the bars, despite the Squirrel's energetic pushing, so at Peter's direction he set it just outside, and Peter stuck his hand through the bars and into the water. He tried using his other hand to clean the cut, but his fingers pushed much of the water out of the cup. He sighed silently—not so Patterfeet could see—and tried again.
"Please may I help?" the Squirrel asked timidly, and Peter smiled gladly.
"If you would, good cousin, I would be most grateful for assistance." The King put his hand back in the water, and soon felt the gentle touch of tiny Squirrel paws splashing the water directly onto the cut, then cleaning it out. Peter was careful not to wince when Patterfeet cleaned the deeper parts, and when it started bleeding again. The Squirrel's focus was entirely on the cut, and he missed whatever shadow of pain passed over the King's face until both cuts were clean.
"Would you like some water to drink now, sir?"
"Water would be most welcome, and drink yourself, Patterfeet, if you are thirsty. Take your time at the bucket, though splash not outside of it! For now, with none in sight, it is good to strengthen ourselves, and rest while we may." The Squirrel nodded wisely, and Peter kept his smile inside. As the Squirrel tugged the cup back into his paws and hoisted it, Peter scuffed dirt over the wet spot that remained with his foot, pushing the dust through the bars and onto the darkened dirt. When he finished he went back to the wall and sat, smiling. It was good to have someone near to protect and to lead, he thought. Someone to keep from harm. And someone to help him.
Peter spent several minutes praying to Aslan, resting against the wall with his eyes closed. After he planned strategy. If he could not get out, he could send Patterfeet—carefully, he would have to train the Squirrel first—to investigate.
Speaking of which, he thought he could hear the Squirrel's heavier tread again, a welcome sound in so much silence. He opened his eyes and looked out; Patterfeet was lugging the cup down the hall, and Peter smiled to see the Squirrel had not only drunk, but taken some water and washed the salt out of his fur, putting it in place as well.
"'Twas well done," Peter said gravely, reaching a hand through to cup some water and bring it to his lips. "Cair Paravel would take pride in you."
"And you, sir?" Patterfeet asked shyly, shuffling from one paw to another.
"I am pleased to see you better, good cousin, and proud to have your help," Peter reiterated kindly. "I have enough, have you?" Patterfeet nodded, and without being asked took the cup back to its resting place. When he came back Peter extended his hand and the Squirrel jumped onto his arm, running up to his shoulder. Once he was settled, a hand in Peter's hair and his tail extended behind him for balance, Peter surveyed the alcove. "We must find a place for you to hide," he explained, running his fingertips along some of the gouges. "If they come, with food or with unpleasant intent, you are not to be seen. Those are your orders. Do you understand?" he asked, pausing his movements to make sure Patterfeet understood.
"Yes, sir," Patterfeet said after a pause.
"You do not have to like what you must do, but you must obey. For our enemies not to know of you only strengthens us; for them to know of you weakens us, for one may be used to break the other unto obedience. This, perhaps?" he asked, fingering a deeper gouge. "No, 'tis no use, for the light reaches it."
"Further up, sir?" Patterfeet extended his paws, gripping the wall, and ran up the curve to nearly the top. "Few look up, and it's dark farther in," he added, pushing himself into a narrow gouge someone had scored on the very top.
"Canst hold yourself there long, good cousin? For very long, perhaps?" Peter asked, his neck craned to look directly up.
"Perhaps, if I-" and Patterfeet stopped talking to scrabbled with his claws, and Peter blinked and covered his head as dirt showered down. "Some of it was soft!" Patterfeet exclaimed excitedly. "No one can see me here," he added proudly, and Peter cautiously looked up to see that it was so; the Squirrel had disappeared into one side of the gouge, where he'd tunneled out his own hiding place.
"Well done," Peter said, smiling, and reaching to brush the dust out of his hair. A small body flew past him a few moments later, and a thump echoed in the alcove. Peter discovered Patterfeet sprawled on the ground.
"I don't know how to get down yet, sir," Patterfeet panted, and Peter hurriedly scooped him up, cradling him in his palms.
"We'll work on your landing, good cousin. But not now," he added as Patterfeet attempted to pick himself up.
"Then what now?" Patterfeet inquired, sinking back down as his black eyes fixed on Peter's face.
"Now we learn what we can, as soldiers should," Peter responded, grabbing on to the idea. "How many men have you seen in your journey thus far?"
They spoke for perhaps an hour, first of the men, then weapons, and then Peter drew a map on the floor of all the places Patterfeet could remember going, pulling from his own memory of how Oreius had trained the Kings to do the same. The network of caves had been dug throughout the entirety of a single mountain somewhere on Narnia's northern border, Peter guessed from Patterfeet's description, and he turned grimmer at that.
Edmund and Susan both would have pointed out it was far too coincidental not to have something to do with the missing Narnians. Peter only hoped he could find them, and send them, at least, home again.
Edmund and Lucy both repeatedly told him they inherited their gifts of making trouble for their captors from Peter himself, and Peter fully resolved to prove it true.
He kept Patterfeet busy at the same time, the Squirrel soon leaping from one side of the map to the other, drawing the passages with his own tiny fingers, and adding all the details he could remember. Peter reminded him twice that now was not the time for more exploring as the Squirrel's excitement grew; it would come at nightfall, when most of their captors would (Aslan willing) be sleeping. And according to the Squirrel, it had been the early hours of the morning when Peter had been found.
Hours passed, and their captors did not bring Peter any food. Twice Patterfeet went back for water, bringing it to his King and drinking himself. Peter drilled Patterfeet on scurrying to his hiding place at the first sound, and landing, and, at the Squirrel's eager begging, on the best ways for Squirrels to incapacitate Sons of Adam. But as the hours wore on and both Narnians grew hungrier, Peter commanded them to save their strength and nap. He rested in the shadows, leaning against the back wall, setting Patterfeet gently on his shoulder, the Squirrel's tail wrapped around him and his nose pressing gently into the King's neck. When both woke, Peter stretched cautiously, then looked down at the Squirrel whose whiskers were quivering in eagerness.
"Is it time, sir?"
"Time for stealth, yes, good cousin. Go forth to the outside first, unseen, and find if there be any Narnians or Narnian land near, that we may send word to my consorts of this place of captivity. If there be none, come back to me, and we plan our next move. Watch as you move through the tunnels, and remember the map, and that Aslan gifted your kind in many ways to allow you to pass unseen." Peter stood, walking forward to place Patterfeet on the wall near the bars. "I will spend my time testing the bars, and seeing if I can find a way to meet you halfway. Go, and Aslan go with you." With a quick grasp of its clever paws on Peter's hand, Patterfeet was gone, leaving the High King alone.
Peter untied the rope around his waist, carefully flinging it over the chains at the top of the bars. Testing it, the rope hung strong, and Peter wrapped an end around either hand and pulled, first with all his strength, then with his weight added. The chains did not budge, and Peter unwrapped the rope with a grimace, for the pulling had not done the cuts on his palms any favors. He tested the bars again, with rope and with his hands, but could only move them the scant finger-length the chains allowed. His palms no longer bleeding, he turned to the edges of the cell, to see if any of them were soft enough he could follow the Squirrel's example and dig himself out, but none of the fissures in the rock were large enough for his hand, let alone for his body.
Do not give up, he reminded himself (Lucy's tone chiming in the words). No way out right now does not mean there is no way out.
He went back to the middle of his alcove and brushed himself off as best he could, looking around to see if there were any options he might have missed.
There weren't. He was, he realised, thus left with an inexperienced young page to rescue him, and Peter smiled to himself. Aslan had used weaker, less experienced means before; Peter himself had been no kingly figure when he took his first awe-struck steps in Narnia.
Speaking of steps - footsteps were approaching in the distance. Quickly, Peter tied the rope in two loose circles, slipping one over his left wrist, putting his hands behind his back, and twisting to get the other loop around his right wrist, moving back towards the wall at the same time. He lay down on his side, facing the wall, mimicking his position from before waking as best as his memory could supply.
For these were heavy footsteps, a pair of them almost in sync, belonging to the Sons of Adam and not to Squirrels, coming closer and stopping at the bars to his cell.
"Oi, you 'wake yet?" a rough voice called. Peter didn't move.
You make a lovely possum, High King of Narnia, he heard Edmund say in his head, and he sternly told his brother's voice to be quiet.
"Is he supposed to be out for this long? Them 'erbs never worked 'alf so long as this before," a second voice whined worriedly.
"We 'adn't 'it the others on the 'ead three tu four times before, either," the rough voice said. "We might 'ave cracked it." Peter resolutely kept his muscles still as he heard bars clanking. Do not resist, do not resist, he reminded himself as he heard the door scraping against the floor. Possum-playing, indeed, my brother.
"I don't get why we're feeding 'im," the second voice complained, closer than before. "It's not like the others, 'e don't need to be fat."
"We're feeding 'im because I don't feel like arguing with Dagguer. 'E ain't native to Narnia, but 'e'll change it all the same, making a nice golden profit, and I ain't standing in 'is way. You want to?"
"No, not me! I saw the last un who argued with 'im, and I ain't ending up like that. There," and Peter heard something hit the ground, "that's done, and now let's leave, afor 'is 'igh and mighty majesty wakes up, oath or no oath. I ain't being a part of no cage match." Peter heard the door scrape closed again and footsteps walking back down the hall.
"Dagguer's right, though. This 'as been easy, and a pile of gold to be made from it, after the second part. What you gonna do with your share?" Peter heard their retreating voices say, the whining voice beginning to say something about land in Galma before the door at the end of the hall swung shut and cut it off.
Peter rolled over. A metal bowl with a thin gruel was placed just inside the door, and Peter sighed, slipping off the rope and going to pick it up. They hadn't provided a spoon, so Peter, with a grimace for the taste, lifted the bowl to his lips and drank. It wasn't quite as appealing as it would have been if he hadn't had any water, but it was something he forced himself to drink, knowing he needed it. He left some in the bottom for Patterfeet, setting the bowl to one side in the shadows. They would know he was awake next time he came, but eating was more important than stealth.
He waited perhaps another hour before he heard the soft scritch, scritch of tiny claws on stone and walked to the bars. Patterfeet was not running, and Peter could tell from his drooping tail that the Squirrel had found little or nothing. He put his hand through the bars at the Squirrel's level, allowing Patterfeet to jump onto it before bringing the Narnian back into the cell.
"Eat first," Peter commanded softly, sitting down next to the bowl and extending the arm with the Squirrel to the ground. "We will speak after." He watched the Squirrel eat, thanking Susan inside that she had taught him about Squirrel-sized portions as Patterfeet ate eagerly at first, then more slowly, finishing the rest but appearing satisfied. Perhaps Squirrels had less discerning taste pallets when it came to liquids, Peter thought wryly.
Finished, Patterfeet went first to their hand-drawn map, squinting at it and then adding a few lines. "Here, sir, and here, and here, are places they don't use much. But I don't think walking around at night is a good idea, sir," the Squirrel added earnestly. "I think most of them are part Owl, because many of them were sleeping and started waking up only when the sun went down."
"Darkness often hides evil deeds," Peter quoted, a grim smile on his lips. "They may indeed like the darkness better. We will work in the hours of the day, then, when the sun lights the dark. What else found you outside the caves?"
"I'm sorry, so very sorry, sir, but there's no one around but giants, sir, to the southeast, and the sea to the west, and I didn't even see birds, sir, there's no one."
"Peace, Patterfeet, who lives here - or does not - is no fault of yours. You checked for them thoroughly?" The Squirrel nodded rapidly. "Then have even greater care as you go about, for if none live here but rouges and giants, a Squirrel will be an immediate enemy." He sat next to the map as well. "Have you found else of interest?"
"I counted the men, sir, all that I could find, and there's one paw four times*, sir, and the man who kept telling them to hit you, and two people with him that are dressed in that funny way of the Calormenes, sir."
"There's Calormenes here?" Peter repeated sharply, and Patterfeet nodded again. "I had thought Rabadash gave up all claim to my sister - and the plan meant evil for Lucy, not Susan, and that to make me tractable, they said. But what would Calormen want with me?" Peter mused out loud. "A buyer - the Tisroc buying the High King of Narnia, and sending him back, if the word of Dagguer is to be believed? The treaty a way into our lands, to set up the attempt?" He closed his eyes in frustration. "I would my siblings stood here to help me reason this." He opened his eyes to see Patterfeet staring at him expectantly. "As they are, praise Aslan, quite far from here, we must do what we can on our own. I saw not how the door in the bars is to be opened, but where there is a lock, there is a key."
"I know where the key is, sir!" Patterfeet's tail had bushed up, and he was nearly bouncing on his feet, his words rushing out. "I can get it sir, easily sir, it's not far, sir, just hanging on a wall outside, keys for all the cells, sir, all of them, but I didn't bring it before because we were being quiet, and keys are never quiet, I tried to take some before at Cair Paravel and fell when they made a bunch of noise because I was surprised, sir, but I can get these, sir, I can!"
"Can you get them here quietly?" Peter asked, eyes fixed on the Squirrel. It was not a risk he could afford not to take, but nor was it a safe one.
"I can try, sir! And I can try hard, sir, that's how I got to be a page, sir, and why Oreius noticed me, and why I found you, sir, because I don't always do it right right away, but I try very hard, and I really want to do this, sir, because I don't like it when you're in a cage, and I don't like leaving you behind, and you can teach me so much more if you come with me outside the cell, sir, and I can try to be really, really quiet. Truly, sir, I-"
"Peace, Patterfeet, or will convince me you cannot be quiet at all," Peter reproved gently, letting amusement show to steady the Squirrel. "Go first to the adjacent halls, and if there be any in them, leave the keys for now. But if the halls be empty, and you see the keys and can take them with none hearing, bring them swiftly. There is much more I would know of our hosts, and truly, I would also welcome freedom from this cell." He knelt, bending to put himself at the Squirrel's level. "But do not be seen. There is your first task, for my only freedom is bound to your freedom, and to lose you would be to lose all freedom I have. If you care to see me free, then do not lose your own. Will you promise me to take no risk? For the keys wait, hanging on a wall, and we may wait to seize till a good moment. Will you wait, Patterfeet, if the risk is high, and risk not my only freedom?"
The Squirrel looked at him, stilling to give the High King his whole attention. "I swear," he responded solemnly, and Peter smiled.
"Then I take your oath, and keep you to it. Go, Patterfeet, and see if without risk you may gain the means to free us both." With a swift bow and a bound, the Squirrel hurled himself through the cell bars and down the hall.
OOOOO
*Squirrels have five digits on their paws, just like we do, if you were wondering. I looked at pictures just to make sure, and they're kind of cool.
Response to Guest: I'm so glad you loved it! I should be updating every Tuesday, and the as the story is at least half-way through, hopefully it will only be a couple months before it's finished!
Response to Anonymousme: I'm sorry, but this story is going to be strictly from Peter's perspective. I usually set myself one to three challenges per story, and try not to add more to that-I did that with "A Turtle's Tale" and it got too large, and lost a lot of the enchantment. The challenges for this story were courtly language and Calormen-speak, Peter's perspective (which is a challenge for me), and weaving two threads into one. To add any other perspectives to that would add more threads, and I've not enough skill to keep them from escaping. But remind me, after I finish this story, and I'll try a few one-shots of letters? I've always wanted to set something up, actually, with a few other Narnian authors, where each of us take one sibling, and write letters back and forth, posting them as continuing chapters. But I've this and the Tumnus story to finish before I begin a project that large! Because of that restriction to Peter's perspective, we actually won't know the majority of what his siblings do until they rejoin the story. But yes, I imagine they would have every winged Narnian scouring the skies! Hopefully this was enough proof that Peter isn't just lying down waiting for rescue? :) The Great Divorce is a series of interactions a ghost has with other ghosts, when they're given a glimpse of a land on the way to heaven. It's as revealing about human nature as the most pointed of Lewis's works, it includes interactions with George MacDonald, and there was one vacation where I read the entirety of it every morning, several days in a row-it's a short, easy read, and a very good one. I've read almost everything he's written, actually-and there are books I like better and books I have to be a mood for, but there are many, many ones I love. Do you think you'll try to read them?
