Rodin was very young, probably too young to understand the terrors of war, but he knew that it was his destination to fight alongside the King to keep Narnia safe. It had been a hard decision to make but he had made up his mind. He would fight. He would fight against the Witch who brought the long winter, he would fight against anyone who wanted to disturb the peace of Narnia after that.
That was almost 15 years ago, but still all he did was fight. He had fought for many years and fought bravely for Aslan and Narnia, but lately, his faith in fighting faded slowly. His strength was waning and his patience was, too. This was his last fight, his last stand against the heavy forces of the dark and ferocious enemy.
But this time it had been so different. They won this last fight, but the enemy had scattered and gained ground. Rodin's group was ordered to follow them, which they did at a high pace. Suddenly, they were surrounded by who they hunted before, and outnumbered. Arrows hissed by and brought many of his friends down. After only a few moments most of the centaurs had died or were badly wounded. Rodin's mind raced with thoughts he could not understand but one though was so intense that all he could do was give in to it. This one thought was 'save yourself'. And that he did. He dodged a few arrows and jumped away into the undergrowth. But the enemy spotted him and followed him quickly. The centaur ran for his life and stumbled through the thicket and branches, scratching himself on thorns and trees. Then for a moment he stopped to catch his breath and to hear if he had outrun the ones that followed him. At first he didn't hear anything except the fast beating of his heart, but then, he realized that the pounding sounds did not come from his chest. His ears were pricked up to hear the slightest sound, and his heart beat calmed quickly and then he heard the footsteps of three men advancing. He knew that he could not outrun them when they were so close, his only hope was direct attack. And so he threw his whole weight forward, dashing through the trees with all his might to knock them over. He succeeded in his plan and jumped forward. But one of the opponents was able to fire one last arrow before his head was crushed underneath the heavy hooves of the centaur. This arrow hit Rodin behind his left shoulder blade, low in the chest.
The centaur grunted heavily as he bolted through the undergrowth. Sometimes he lost his footing and skidded a little on the muddy grass. Leaves and branches tore from the trees as now stuck to his swaying mane and tail. Rodin brushed through ferns and bushes, rushing almost blindly forward, away from the terrors of war. And then he fell as he stumbled, and a sharp and hot pain in his breast that drove all air out of his lungs. He sank to the ground and tried hard to catch his breath. The pain was almost unbearable and soon he felt warm blood trickle from the wound. The fur around it felt wet and the skin started to itch. He could not reach it with his hands and every time he moved, he felt whatever had caused this pain move deeper into his flesh. His forelegs gave in and he dropped to his knees when he felt his strength and energy drain from his body. Dizziness started to set in and he had to lean to one side until he was fully rested.
The sound of trumpets and the clash of swords faded slowly but Rodin thought it was just a trick that his mind played him because of his own failing strength. Thus, he did not hear the light laughter that drew closer with every breath he desperately took. The centaur tilted his head and wrapped his arms around him to keep himself warm. It had suddenly gotten colder. And then happened. Tiny, at first but cold snowflakes slowly covered his black fur and armour. His long black hair was damp against his head and framed his handsome face.
His vision blurred and his breath formed large white clouds in front of his head, the cold was making him weaker with each moment. He grew anxious, no one would ever find him here, except for the enemy, but when they found him, they would probably simply kill him. Maybe they would toy with him a little before they would spear him or drive their sharp blades through his shivering body. That thought made him dizzy. He tried to get up but his legs refused to move at all. His head began to hurt and his eyes suddenly felt heavy. He let his upper body sink onto his forelegs and rested his head against the cold ground.
A slight movement in the bushes nearby made him stir. He lifted his head and saw light in the darkness, light that slowly transformed into a shadow and a gleaming outline. Rodin's eyes hurt when he tried to look into the transition of light and darkness, of shadow and luminosity. And then he saw something he would have never believed possible. It was a girl of cascading lights, blue and silver, yellow and jade, red and violet. Her face was so pale that Rodin had to suppress a shiver rushing along his spine. But her eyes were intriguing and immersing so that he felt a certain force to lift his head and look at her. But what he saw was not the girl, it was his own childhood, his youth and almost everything that happened before he came here, before he sacrificed his life for a cause that was not his. He realized that the war had no sense after all, that it had been senseless all along. After the great war against the White Witch and the victory over the cold and never ending winter they should have stopped. The world would have helped itself, the people living in Narnia would have started to live together in peace. But the ongoing wars and battles under Aslan, the Lion, inflicted upon the people, they grew hostile and fought each other whenever they had the chance. Aslan had created Narnia long before his own time, and during his long absence, the White Witch had taken over the wide lands. Winter had come and snow had covered everything, the lands, the trees, the hopes of all creatures of Narnia. But the fighting had not made it better. The four children, the ones that had been so excitedly awaited before the great war against the White Witch, the peace-bearers, had left Narnia a long time ago, or so it seemed to Rodin. Too many years he had fought blindly and without questioning any of his actions.
The girl came closer and Rodin's vision came to an abrupt end. Al he now saw was the girl with so many lights dancing around her.
"Hold still…" she whispered when she drew closer.
Rodin stirred but was too weak to push himself up onto his legs and run away. He had given up.
The girl knelt down before him in the snowy grass and carefully placed her hand onto his matted wet back. The touch of her hand felt hot, almost burning. He had to close his eyes for a moment, then opened them quickly, when the girl let her hands travel a little. She pealed away the armour around his chest and revealed the entry wound of the spear. It was not a very deep wound, but the way the creature rummaged around would soon drive the tip of the arrow further into its flesh.
"Hush, friend!" she spoke to him. "Lay still and live…" With one quick movement she pulled out the sharp point of the arrow out if his flesh and laid her tiny hands over the wound to stop the trickle of blood. From somewhere she pulled a handful of leaves which she now applied to the wound. Suddenly the pain was gone and strength was returning into Rodin's body.
"What is your name?" he asked shyly and the girl looked up.
"My name you want to know?" she asked back and smiled. "My name…am I nothing more than a name to you"?
Rodin frowned. "No, but I would like to call you by your name…"
The girl came closer and gently touched his cheek. "So if my name means so much to me, then I will tell you my name. It is Alina."
He winced when he tried to move his forelegs against the branches, every movement hurt and burnt again into his flesh like a hot flame. But as soon as he rested again, the cool herbs did their work and took away some of the pain.
"You saved my life…" the centaur breathed hard. "Stay with me, please…"