Disclaimer: This poem is by Robert Hayden. It's totally his genious and I give him props! I think its absolutely gorgeous!

Author note: This poem is what Peter's thoughts were based on in the first chappy, and kinda something else.

Edit: I've had many complaints about this chappy, and I have to say, they were all totally right! I'm quite sorry I let you all down with this one, so I fixed it up a tad and I hope its much better this time around! Thank you for all your very helpfull critism!

Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

-Robert Hayden

XxX

"What are you doing Susan?" Edmund asked, as he walked in to find Susan with an open dictionary and Peter and Lucy slumped in chairs.

"I'm trying to kill some time!" Susan exclaimed, as though she'd been asked that question a million times before." It's blizzarding everywhere if you haven't noticed!"

"Well your gonna kill more than time if you go on any longer with that!" Edmund said, and relief washed over Lucy's face. But his brother, he saw, was completely wrapped up in a tattered scrap of paper, that he held shakily in his hands.

Dear Father,

"What you got there, Pete?" Edmund asked curisously, walking over to him. Peter hastily snatched it back away into his chest, to save it from prying eyes.

"Is that another letter from one of your girlfriends back home?" Edmund teased as he saw his brother's jumpiness.

"Not hardly," he mumbled under his breath.

"He's been readin' that thing for hours, Ed. Don't exspect him to just hand it over to you," Susan said exasperatedly, folding her arms in disapproval.

And here they go again, Peter thought to himself as Edmund and Susan went off on one of their long rants. Usually they tried to drag Peter into the whole thing, but not this time. No. Not this time. He was going to get out of this before it even got started. The boy folded his paper very carefully and slowly along its crinkled folds, and stuffed it back into the safty of his pocket. And while they two were wrapped up in their arguement about who-knows-what, he slipped slyly out of the library door into the hallway and out beyond, to the many corridors of the vast mansion.

XxX

He had to get away from that. He couldn't take another arguement again. Ever since they got back through the wardrobe, all the siblings had been fighting and bickering and everything inbetween. The whole senario was driving them all insane. Not knowing what was going to happen next, or why fate had brought them to Narnia and then booted them back out, was driving them mad. And questions they would ask aloud about such matters, would only stir up the others and drive them more insanly anticy.

A heavy sigh heaved from Peter's chest as he walked, further and further away, til his siblings bickering faded into the walls around him. He climbed deeper into the mansion, turning through doors and up stair cases, down corridors and past piles of armor and stuffy furniture that made up its decor. Until finally, he was face to face with a narrow stair case, that lead up into the darkness of nowhere. And his curiousity gripped him tight. He could feel it boil up inside of him, and it dragged him along, step by step...up the creaky stairs...