Disclaimer: While the attempt has been made to be medically accurate as far as is consistent with the fantasy world of Narnia, some artistic license has been taken, and statements made by Rawlstow are not to be regarded as authoritative.
Narnia and recognizable characters thereof are the property of the estate of C. S. Lewis; all original characters and story © 2020 FemaleChauvinist.

Do not post without permission. Do not copy/print without including the above disclaimer in its entirety.

A/N: This story is part of two of my Narnia collections, Vulpes Medico and Chinks & Chasms. My fox healer is introduced in my story "Vulpes Medico: Winter's End," so you might wonder about some things if you haven't read that one first. Barbie

Dedicated to PadrePedro, whose reviews on my last Narnia story inspired me to dust off some of my old outlines. (And I have another I plan to write when I finish the Deep Space Nine story I'm currently working on!)

"…But it was one of the magical places of that world, one of the chinks or chasms between that world and this. There were many chicks or chasms between worlds in old times, but they have grown rarer." ~ Aslan Prince Caspian

Chapter One: Pilot Down

Black smoke poured from the German bomber. In the cockpit, Franck Adams knew he had only minutes, perhaps even seconds, before the plane blew up and him with it. Hurriedly checking the straps of his parachute, he crawled to the door and bailed out.

There were several seconds of terrifying, exhilarating freefall, and then his chute opened just as he saw the flash of the explosion.

As the ground neared, he tried to remember all he had been taught about landing, but he had had far too little practice and his arm struck hard with a sickening snap.

For a moment, he was still too excited to feel more than a dull throb of pain. He was in enemy territory, he knew, and had to get himself hidden before anyone found him. Pulling a knife from his pocket, he opened it with his teeth and awkwardly cut through the parachute straps left-handed.

The pain in his arm was beginning to make itself felt now, and he felt sick and dizzy as he kicked and shoved the parachute into a less noticeable bundle.

A thought suddenly occurring to him, he grabbed the edge of the parachute in his teeth and stood on it to hold it taut as he cut off a ragged strip.

The knot was even harder one-handed, but at last he had a makeshift sling to loop around his neck. He used his left hand to ease his useless arm into it, the pain of shifting it so great he had to turn aside and retch. But he managed to half run, half stagger to the edge of the woods before passing out.

oOo

Franck came to to find a dog sniffing at him, whining anxiously and licking his face.

He sat up in alarm, ignoring the stab of pain and wave of dizziness it brought on as he looked around frantically for the owner who might be close behind.

But he saw no sign of anyone, and gradually his heart rate calmed. Looking at the dog more closely, he could see that it was thin and ungroomed; it looked to have been a stray for some time. Probably its owners had been killed by a bomb — maybe even one of his, he thought bitterly — or had been forced to leave him behind when they fled to a safer area.

"Hey, boy; hey, Otto," he murmured, running his fingers through the matted fur as he unconsciously gave it the name of his childhood pet.

The dog responded with a wag of his tail, and Franck smiled slightly as he steadied himself on its neck to pull himself shakily to his feet. He had to get moving, he knew; had to distance himself from the parachute before someone found it and came looking for the pilot.

"Come on, boy," he encouraged, snapping his fingers at the dog. It fell into place at his side, and he rested a hand on its head as he slowly moved deeper into the woods.

oOo

After walking for nearly an hour, Franck was aware of little other than the throbbing, sickening pain in his arm and a burning, feverish thirst. "Water," he gasped half deliriously. "Have to find — water." He stumbled and caught himself on the dog's rough head before lurching forward once again.

He was too sick to notice the two trees with branches crossed to form a perfect arch; too miserable to realize that the woods glimpsed through the arch seemed cleaner and brighter than that which surrounded him.

The dog sensed what Franck did not and hung back, whining uneasily. Normally Franck might have paid attention, trusting the animal's instincts and approaching cautiously, if at all. But he could think of little beside the pain, barely even registering that the dog was no longer at his side as he stumbled through the arch — and disappeared.

Left behind, the dog whined once more, its tail between its legs and the fur on its back standing on end. Cautiously, it sniffed around the trees that formed the arch, and found only a clean, fresh scent that shouldn't have been alarming. But of the human he had adopted there was no sign, and the dog sat down, lifted his nose, and howled.

Next chapter coming next week!

I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that this story is formatted using British spellings.)

Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie