(A/N) Elo, everyone! I'm back…I am sooo happy… they've started shooting the new Narnia movie…WOOT! Happy, happy, happy…anyway, thanks to all the reviewers who, well umm… reviewed. I had sixty reviews for six chapters, cool…happy, happy…It gave me warm, fuzzies. The only other time that happens is when I watch my stick thin sister try on her old clothes that don't fit her anymore...muahaha…(rubs hands gleefully)…Back to now, though, enjoy! And review please ;)
Disclaimer:
mis.mira: (sobs uncontrollably because she doesn't own Narnia)
Edmund: Umm…could you not do that? You're flooding Narnia.
M: (Doesn't stop) Just say it, okay.
E: Okay; mis.mira doesn't own anything, except Sabra, Stubby and other made up characters.
Reepicheep: (rows by in his coracle)
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Instead of leaning forwards to kiss him, Sabra jerked her head backwards.
"Forgive me, sire," she said loudly and hollowly, "I did not mean to awaken you."
Peter seemed not to notice. He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. It took all of her will power not to give in to the kiss. She pulled away, the picture of the golden lion from her dream dancing about in her mind's eye. Peter looked into her eyes, puzzled, and then he stiffened. He straightened up slowly, and to Sabra, it seemed as if, in those few seconds, he had transformed from the boy who had just kissed her, to the High King of Narnia in all his regal glory. She felt like reaching up and touching his face, just to see if she could feel the invisible mask he seemed to be wearing. Peter made a little bow.
"No." His voice had also seemed to have changed into a more majestic one, even if it did have a slightly injured tone. "It is I, who should be apologizing, lady. For my intrusion during this unearthly hour."
Sabra could see his cheeks take on a reddish hue as he walked out of her tent, but her mind pushed that aside, as it tended to the more pressing issues at hand. She had gathered that an intimate connection between her and the High King was not meant to be, and would most probably corrode the fabrics that held Narnia together, like the voice had suggested in her dream. She thought about all those times she had read the chronicles, when she was happy or sad, and realized that she would not allow that to happen.
She had to get out of there, of that, she was certain. If she could steer clear of him, perhaps the whole problem could be fixed. The king would move on and find some one else, while she would be free to, well, to do whatever she wanted to do. Picking up a stub of a candle that was set on the table beside her bed, she scrabbled around in one of the many chests in the tent until she found what she was looking for; parchment paper, some ink and a quill. Setting the candle back down again, she unscrewed the inkbottle, dipped the quill into the dark, liquid, and started to write.
Using a quill proved harder than it seemed, but she had managed to scribble a short message amid all the splatters of ink, which were a byproduct of her writing. Satisfied, she signed at the bottom of the page, folded it in half, and placed the missive under the inkbottle. As she slipped her feet into a pair of well-fitting boots, she saw the dagger she had used in the skirmish against Servos on the little table, beside the candle stub (she had decided to call it Stubby). The jewels embedded in the dagger seemed to wink at her in Stubby's flickering light; she grabbed it and slid it into the little pocket in her boot that was made for that purpose.
Before leaving the tent, Sabra grabbed Stubby, knowing if she didn't take him along, she would not be able to walk all the way to where the horses were kept without stumbling on something or the other. She cast one last look around the tent before exiting through its entrance. Sabra had managed to locate Andrew, tack him up, and lead him away from the other sleeping horses before he noticed what was going on. When he did come to his senses, however, he dug his hooves into the ground and refused to budge, even when she yanked on his reins.
"Come on, Andrew," she whispered desperately, hoping he wouldn't make any noise, "I must get away from here."
"But my lady-," he said in a loud, sleepy voice, "-it is not yet dawn."
Sabra hastily clamped her hands over his mouth.
"I know that, Andrew. Now, come on." She pulled harder on his rains. Andrew did not budge. "I'll explain later," she added, hoping that that would make him move.
"What about the dangers in the forest, lady? Think about the risks. You might die."
"In order to die, you have to live a little first, Andrew," she retorted, getting annoyed. "Look, if you don't want to help, I can walk."
And she stormed off into the forest, Stubby in hand. After a few minute of walking, she heard a horse-like sigh from behind her. Whirling around, she was not surprised to see Andrew standing there, looking as sheepish as a horse could. She walked up to him and placed her hand on his forehead.
"You've decided to join us?" she asked.
"Us?" Andrew looked around.
Sabra held her candle up in front or his face.
"Meet Stubby."
Andrew just snorted. Sabra mounted him, careful not to burn him with Stubby. She then proceeded to tell Andrew about her dream, and of the High King. The horse listened carefully, never once interrupting her, and the only thing he did, besides walk slowly, was to occasionally swat the air with his tail.
"So what do we do now, lady?' he asked when she was finished.
"Ah, my dear Andrew, we are going somewhere Peter wouldn't think of looking," she said in a falsely confident voice. "At least I think so. And don't say I don't know where I'm going, I've studied some of the kings' maps and I have a sketch and a compass with me. So, no worries."
"I think anybody would be worried if they rode with a lady who gave her candles names, my lady." Andrew said in a serious voice.
She poked him.
"Don't call me a lady, Andrew. I'm not."
"Of course not, my lady."
She poked him again.
"I mean, of course not, Sabra."
"That's much better," she said in a smug voice.
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A few hours later, the first rays of the sun touched the tips of the tents of the Narnian camp. Kara was making her way towards Sabra's tent, when suddenly, her whiskers twitched involuntarily. That's strange. Her mother had always told her that it was a sign, the twitch. Suppositious nonsense. The tigress shook her head, dismissing the thought, and then entered the tent.
"Lady, we must leave soon for Cair Paravel," she called out.
No answer. Perhaps she was still asleep. Kara walked towards the bed and poked gently at the bundle wrapped in sheets. No movement.
"My lady, you must get-"
She had swatted the sheets aside to find – nothing. Eyes widening, she ran out of the tent to get the king. In a few minutes, the royal family of Narnia burst into Sabra's tent. Lucy and Susan were questioning Kara, Edmund was looking around the place, while Peter just stood there, his face impassive, not even moving when Edmund announced that he had found a note from Sabra. The two queens rushed to the younger king, urging him to read it. Edmund glanced at Peter, who nodded, before commencing.
"Please forgive me for doing this," Edmund began, "but there is no other way. I need to make myself scarce for a while, so please do not come looking for me. Thank you all for your hospitality, and I promise you all that I will be safe. Sabra."
