The sand is hot beneath my feet. The tombs are in sight. And I'm alone.
Raised on a good diet of Calormene superstition and a heaping dose of ignorance, I'm uncertain about the validity of the ghost stories that I hear concerning the Tombs of the Kings. They definitely look imposing enough.
This could very easily be the gloomiest sunset I've ever seen.
I wanted so badly to travel with those people, those happy, heartfelt people. They seemed so…carefree would be the wrong word. Perhaps they just showed me the middle ground between the dour Calormene men and their obnoxious, frittering wives. Practical enough to realize their danger, and competent enough to get out of it. I wanted to be a part of their lives, be wanted somewhere for once. I feel a pang when I think of the boy who came in at the last minute and ruined it for me.
Looking up at the sky and out at the desert just makes me more aware of very small I am, so I slink over to the tombs and take shelter on the side that faces the city. I heard jackals crying out in the distance, and my hands and feet become clammy with fear and slick with sweat.
I wish they hadn't left me behind.
I wish that everyone else was here. Aravis has a scimitar, she'd protect me. Or at any rate, protect Bree.
She is here.
Silhouetted by the moonlight, she stands out from the glowing sands. She isn't speaking, but she holds a hand out to me. I stand instantly, take it.
She embraces me, in a way that I in my ignorance could scarcely imagine. She makes me feel lightheaded, weak. The way I felt when I first saw Queen Susan. I understand how Rabadash must feel, replete with desire that could never be quenched.
Aravis is more beautiful than Susan could ever be. Susan relies on her royal gowns; Aravis has the moon itself to robe her body. I run a rough finger over her lips. They feel like the flowers in the marketplaces. The ones that I was forbidden to touch. They were too good, too rich, too dainty for commoners.
The roses. Her lips are the petals of a dusky violet rose. I draw her closer, scraping that same callused finger down the deep groove of her back, and she shudders.
Tremble for me, Aravis. Will you moan my name in my ear? Will you clutch me when I kiss your neck? Will you not swallow me whole when I dare to taste the honey from your lips? Will you not scream with delight when I –
My eyes fly open as I hear a terrible howl, very near by. And they fill with tears as I watch handfuls of sand slip through my fingers and blow away on the wind.
There's a cat nearby. It's so large, I can scarcely believe it's just a cat. Besides, there's that matter of its eyes. They're…unnaturally aware.
I talk to this cat for a while, telling it my fears, my worries. I almost tell it of my desire, but stop. Those thoughts are private. I won't share Aravis with anyone.
I hope that she's actually coming back for me. Seeing the dark tints of the morning sky remind me of her lips, curling in a smirk.
What will you do, princess? What will you do on that momentous day that I make you smile?
On the evening of the second day, she comes. With the horses. I step out of the shadows of the tombs and walk towards them. For a fraction of a second, something like relief pools in her eyes, only to be smothered by an ill-timed blink.
She tells us of Rabadash's plan to kidnap Queen Susan; I tell them of the Narnians' intended destination and how to get there by way of the desert. The plan in motion, we mount and ride.
The dark obscures the view of anyone else's face. Bree sounds calm. Hwin seems a little tired. But I don't quite dare to look at her until the smudgy dawn lights up the horizon. Then I take a little peek, the barest satisfaction I can grant myself.
Her head is high, her mouth solemn. I wonder what secrets she's got to tell. We trudge on in silence.