A/n: The end is near, my friends! Only five more chapters until Faraji's grand (mis)adventure draws to a close. Many great and terrible things are about to happen in the interim, and plenty of plot twists are still in the making (as if we haven't had enough already—first, Faraji finds out his father wrote the letter that sent him on this disastrous mission, and now his parents betray him and accuse him of being his murderous brother, Beresh. As if things in the North weren't sordid enough, we have Moro—everyone's favorite cheetah—causing mayhem in the South, bringing one plot twist after another into the mix).

In the meantime...

Hands down, this chapter was the hardest to write. I second-guessed myself at every turn. "Is it boring?" "Is it realistic?" "Is it preachy?" Et cetera. But in the end, after all my agonizing and revising, it went the way I thought it would (and should). And to my relief, I got it done on time. Christmas is only a blink away, and the events of this chapter and the lessons Faraji will soon learn are quite fitting.

By the way: I quote the Narnia books more than usual. I take no credit for C.S. Lewis's work—just my paraphrasing.

In conclusion: (1) Thanks for reading, and (2) merry Christmas.

~ John

Faraji wept all the way out of Anvard. The rain had hidden him in its curtains and soaked him to the skin, but it was no matter—he had stopped caring about that now. Nothing had gone right ever since he set off on this mission, and at every turn he found himself to blame. If I had just followed Philip out of Palár instead of attacking him, I wouldn't have fallen ill with the Red Death. If I had just done what he said in Teebeth, those two Calormenes wouldn't be dead. And if I had just listened to my parents, they wouldn't have betrayed me. Why is it that everything I've done has gone so wrong? And at that, Faraji started to cry again as the memories assailed him—his master's boy lying ill, the Red Death torturing him with pain, the hot iron bar that fell on him and scorched his shoulder, and now his parents' accusing him of his brother's crimes.

However long it was until he stopped crying, he didn't know. By then, the grass all around him was half-sunk in rainwater, and he realized that his tail and paws were numb and his limbs were shivering in the cold.

"Oh, Aslan," he sobbed through his chattering teeth. "Whether you are Man or Lion, I know not, but my life is in your hands. If you do not pity me, then kill me here."

And just as the words left his lips and he started crying yet again, the rain began to abate, as if the storm had just begun to run away. A moment passed before he realized he had stopped shivering. His fur felt perfectly dry, as though it had never been wet. Out of the fog and gloom came a golden light, shining from a mane that crowned a regal face.

Faraji saw none of this at first, for his back was still turned, and he was too miserable to notice much of anything beyond himself. And so when the beast spoke his name, the cheetah did not yet answer—rather, he stopped crying. The voice behind him was rich and heavy and wild, one that could make the whole earth move beneath you, but was solemn and glad, too. Faraji thought that whoever this creature was, it almost seemed glad to meet him. And so the cheetah started to turn around, though his face was half-miserable still, and when he did, terrible dread rushed up and down him. He tried to run, but he found that he couldn't move.

The beast lifted a paw and laid it on Faraji's tensing shoulder. "It's all right," said the beast. "Don't be afraid."

Faraji felt a measure of strength return to him, and his heart stopped racing. He stared in wonderment, his eyes wide and mouth hanging halfway open. "Who are you?"

"I am the answer to your prayer." The beast's golden eyes were gentle and kind, and along his muzzle there seemed to be a smile.

Faraji put on a cross face and spun away. "I don't believe you. I have been fooled before; I will not be fooled again."

Before the beast could reply, Faraji's ears swiveled. The drumming of horse's hooves shook the ground, and the thud of hooves and the jingle of tack grew louder. As the horse loped between the trunks, the man's face came into view. Faraji's heart sank when he saw it was Bergan. The man dripped from head to boot, and a sword hung from his belt. But the man did not reach for it. Instead, he let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad I found you. I was beginning to think you had gone to Narnia."

"Your people think I'm a mass murderer," said Faraji. "Why would it matter what happened to me?"

"Queen Susan spoke with me about what happened. She told us we were mistaken."

"But I'm still guilty in her eyes. Confound it, man, I attacked her thirteen years ago—"

"That's why I was looking for you. She has dropped the charges against you. She wants you to come back."

A long pause filled the air. Faraji sat with his mouth open as the words looped through his mind. "...She...She does?"

"Yes," said Bergan. "She wants you to come back to Anvard and join them in the feast. And Queen Lucy wants to give you the medicine."

A moment passed, and Faraji sighed and shook his head. "I can't go back," he said. "No matter what they think, I am still guilty of a capital crime. If Aslan wants to kill me, he will have to hunt me down and drag me back there."

A grimace of confusion twisted Bergan's face. He looked blankly at Faraji, then at the beast. When no answer came, he looked the beast in the face. "What am I to tell them, Sire?"

"That I am going to Narnia to retrieve the cordial."

"So will I," said Faraji. "Bergan, this is why I came here. I ought to see it through."

Bergan still looked confused, but nodded all the same. With a bow of his head, he nickered to his horse, and the steed splashed through the soggy ground and down the hill.

Faraji turned to the beast. "I hope you don't mind, mehan," he said.

The beast gave a low rumble that made the earth thrum. Faraji knew it was a purr.

By the time they entered the mountains, the storm had drifted out of Anvard and flickered over the hills behind them. The lightning still lit the hills all around, but the thunder was little more than a whisper. Straight ahead, the mountains towered over their heads; as they made their way up the pass, the gentle hills steepened, and the ground became hard and rocky beneath their paws. But Faraji didn't mind, now that the rain had gone. The air around them was warm and thick, and soon Faraji felt as though he had never been in the rain. It was then that he found the words to say and the nerve to say them.

"Why would you do this for me, mehan?" said the cheetah. "Isn't it obvious that I'm an enemy of Narnia?"

"I don't call you one," it said. "Why should I change my mind?"

"Because thirteen years ago, I attacked Queen Susan. A month ago, I attacked Philip. Now, my parents are accusing me of my brother's crimes. Everyone thinks I'm a thief and a mass murderer, and now King Peter wants to put me before Aslan."

"Why should you die?" said the beast. "Is there no way for a traitor to mend?"

Faraji scoffed. "Why would that matter? In the Man's eyes, every crime against him is a debt to be paid with blood. But if he killed us all, he would have no subjects—and what good is a kingdom if you have no subjects?—so he struck a bargain with men and beasts after the world was made: If we do enough good deeds to pay off our debts, he might admit us to his Eternal Palace; and if we don't, then—"

Faraji's voice trailed off, and he was silent again. "Oh, confound it," he said. "It sounds absurd, even to hear it. Even more absurd is that I have never even met the man."

"But you fear him, anyway."

"I don't have a choice. Whenever there is a threat against my life, I would be a fool to take it lightly. And when the threat comes from Aslan, I suppose I would be dead if I took it lightly."

"Did you ever wonder when the stories of the Man Aslan began?"

"No," he said. "I assumed this was all known since the beginning of time."

"Your leaders assumed that, as well—which is to be expected, as they have never learned their true history."

"Why haven't they?"

"Because in Erizad, no such records exist. Until a hundred years ago, Erizad was a people devoted to the worship of the true Aslan. For a time, they were even called the Narnia of the South. But in the days of Teimuraz—who, as you know, was credited with spreading the message of the Man Aslan—Erizad was not so admired. In fact, under his watch, they had become lazy and feckless. In forgetting the true Aslan, they forgot their history, and in so doing they forgot themselves. Soldiers were no longer concerned with protecting and defending their families. They took bribes, stole from their own people, fought with one another over prostitutes—and that was only the beginning. Some declared war on their own citizens; others disposed of children and wives at their leisure. Teimuraz was no better; in fact, he was the most notorious of them all. Eventually, it became their undoing. A hundred years ago, Calormenes led a surprise attack. Instead of taking it over by force and numbers, they took it over by breaking the will of Erizad. In the final days of the war, they beheaded and dismembered people by the hundreds, and Teimuraz and his sons hid in the dungeon of Andur. Soon, the Calormenes led an assault on Andur; his sons, daughters, brothers and sisters were murdered before his eyes, in a terrible fashion that drove him to madness. This gave Erizad the last measure of fury and strength to rout Calormen at last, but Teimuraz paid the heaviest price of them all. After he gained a measure of sanity, he created the myth of the Man Aslan. But he did not stop there. In his eyes, there could be no connection with the past; he destroyed all the scrolls and books that contained the true history of the world, including the history of Narnia."

"And Erizad has languished in fear ever since," said Faraji. "We swung from one extreme to another. But why would Aslan let it go on like this? Is he lazy or inept?"

"Aslan cannot work through unwilling hearts," said the beast. "In the last hundred years, he has spoken in dreams and acts of magic—even face to face—but every time has been met with resistance and hostility. The teachings that fill people with fear also fill them with pride; those who wield power over others, even when they use it with fear, do not lose their love of power."

Faraji nodded. That is the Sarazen, the Mareshahs, and us soldiers—no mistaking that. "Is that my punishment, mehan? Did I go to Erizad because of my misdeeds?"

"No," said the beast. "You don't see it yet, but your time in Erizad has prepared you for this season. Reza and his family are now followers of the true Aslan; they are risking their lives to spread the truth about Aslan. All they need now is you—to deliver the medicine and stop the attack."

A cold tone crept into the cheetah's voice. "These people stole me from my home and filled me with lies. I have lived in fear and terror because of what they have done. If I am to go back to Erizad, it will not be to stay."

The beast turned to face him. It was here that Faraji saw the great cat look stern. "If you deliver the medicine and leave, you will spend the rest of your life running from your enemies."

"I am a recipient of the Red Diamond—I do not run from my enemies." But Faraji's stomach had already jumped into his throat. Deep inside, he knew the beast was right.

Faraji flushed even more deeply. He hid his face, fearing it might light up like a beacon. "Damn it," he growled, batting a paw on the ground. "All right, mehan, you made your point. Just admit that I'm a coward and be done with it."

But the beast shook its head. "Faraji, none of that makes you a coward. Your courage and intelligence become you, and your awards and accolades are well earned. But every great warrior has his limits, and every scholar reaches the end of his understanding. When it comes to Aslan, you have reached the end of your courage and wits. Your fear of Aslan weakens you and clouds your judgment; your parents knew it would, and your enemies know it will."

Faraji was silent, and his head was bowed. He knew that if he spoke or lifted his head, the beast would see every bit of embarrassment and shame. "Then what is to be done, mehan?" said Faraji. "The fears of Erizad might be their undoing. But we cannot just ignore the laws of Aslan. If fear is what it takes for people to do what they're told—"

"But this is why you and your people keep suffering as you do. You know that you cannot be good in the eyes of Aslan, and all you expect is death. Fear and threats produce goodness—but it is full of misery and punishment. There is no peace, no joy, no love. There is only desperation to appease Aslan. It does not quicken people to do what they're told; it weakens their hearts and forces them to live in alarm, and in the end, it leads to despair."

Faraji blinked the tears out of his eyes. "But I don't know another way to live."

"That is why you were brought here," said the beast. "I want to show you another way—the greatest way."

Faraji stared at the beast, waiting for it to continue.

"Fifteen years ago, a young boy found himself in a similar position. He was at his wit's end, and he was powerless to change his lot. He, too, was a traitor; he committed a capital crime against Aslan and his brother and sisters. When he came from his own world into ours, the first thing he did was fall in with the Witch—the same Witch who threw Narnia into a hundred-year winter."

Faraji's eyes widened. "Why would he do that?"

"He was told that he would be made into a prince, that he would rule over his brother and sisters. But there was a condition: First, he had to bring them into her realm and deliver them into her hands. What he did not know was that all four of them were part of a prophecy: Through them, Aslan would end the everlasting winter. Of course, the Witch wanted to kill them to ensure it would never come to pass, and though she never succeeded, she did come close to ruling over Narnia."

"With a little help from that boy," said Faraji. "I assume Aslan killed him."

"No," said the beast. "He and the Witch made a pact: She would acquit the boy of the charges, and Aslan would die in the boy's place."

"Do you mean to tell me Aslan is dead?"

The beast chuckled. "Not at all," he said. "There was a deeper magic that the Witch had never expected: Because an innocent died in place of a traitor, death was reversed. The true Aslan is alive, and the debt is paid. Because of what he did, the boy mended, and he went on to become a man. The same traitor, who once betrayed his siblings for a crown, is King Edmund the Just of Narnia."

"I say!" said the cheetah. "If a traitor like that can mend and go on to do something grand, I should wonder if there is hope for me yet. But you cannot honestly expect me to think all this is proper. The Calormenes would call it an unfair trade. The Erizadi would call it an obstruction of justice. Aslan's death defies all good sense and sensibility; there is nothing proper about it. If you expect me to think Aslan was not a liar or insane, what would make him do such a thing?"

The beast smiled. "Love."

Faraji was ready with a crass reply, but the beast's response made him go quiet. The word made his heart leap and his limbs tense with new strength, as if new magic had just been loosed into his veins. But he looked puzzled, too. All these years of reading Erizadi lexicons and dictionaries, and never have I heard such a word. "Love, you say?"

"The best way of all," said the beast. "Love is the thing that drives out fear. Love is what commands you to go on when you reach the end of your strength. Love is what moves a man to cancel a debt. Love is what compels a beast to give his life for his enemies. And love is what softens a man's heart and breaks the power of fear."

Faraji sighed. "And love is what will make me fight for the people who enslaved me, yes?" he said. "Obviously, I do not have that love—not much of it, anyway. Ever since I was taken to Erizad, I watched men risk their lives for their friends, but it was not out of love—not the kind of love you speak about. In the eyes of Aslan, our blood had to be spilled to atone for our transgressions. Death was a duty, and what better way to die than to save others and earn a room in the Eternal Palace?"

Faraji turned to the beast. "Mehan, I know what I'm made of. We both know I don't have that regard for anyone, least of all myself. I would rather not have to do anything for them at all, especially after what Reza did. He stole me from my home and treated me worse than a dog. How can I love someone like that? Why should I?"

"Because you have been shown that kind of love," said the beast, "and in Aslan's kingdom, that love is given to others."

"I have never been shown that kind of love."

"I should think you have," said the beast. "What was it like, to hear that Queen Susan forgave you?"

Faraji expected a difficult question, but when it reached his ears, he did not even need to wait for the words. "It was like the joy a man who had just been pardoned. Just when I thought my life was to be measured in hours, I realized I might live a full span of years. There was no fear, no dread of what they might do. There was the faintest glimmer of hope that they might even think of me as a friend. It was very much…"

At that, Faraji swiveled toward him. "It was very much like the way you have treated me. Not once have you frightened or threatened me. Yes, you have been stern with me, but you have never looked on me with contempt. No one has ever spoken to me as kindly as you have. I daresay you care something for me—more than I care for myself. Is that what love is, mehan?"

The beast tilted its shaggy head. "Part of it."

"Then what is the rest? Surely I'm not so thick that I can't understand it. Is love what will strengthen me for the tasks ahead? Is love something that Aslan does and I just never learned it? How can I know that Aslan will care for me me the way you have? How is it that you can say Aslan is so kind? And most importantly," said the cheetah: "Is Aslan...anything like you?"

A smile, and the beast swung his huge bulk to the left. A waterfall tumbled out of the rocks. After a moment, Faraji followed the beast's eyeline and gazed into the water. All of a sudden, the ripples and rolls of water flattened, and the surface became smooth as a looking-glass. But it was not like looking into the face of your reflection. It was rather like watching a dream dance before you, or staring through a rainy window. And before Faraji knew it, he and the beast were walking straight through it.

Faraji braced himself for the burst of cold water upon his head and shoulders, but instead it felt like walking through a beam of light. Once they were through it, they found themselves in it, as if Faraji had just stepped into a new world. But what he saw was nothing new. They now stood in the home of his master. Everything looked bleary and the colors looked richer, like a dream in the night.

The Mareshah and his wife stood in the study. Reza's face was tear-stained and miserable, and Nazira had just laid a hand on his shoulder. "What is it?" she said. "Darling, whatever it is, you can tell me." The man sniffled and shook his head. "I shouldn't be your husband. What I did to you, to the boys, to Faraji—I can't ask your forgiveness." "But you already have it," said Nazira. "Reza, I want us to be a family—better than it was before. That's all I want. That's all the boys want." At that, Reza started to sob. "And what about Faraji? Damn it, Nazira, I stole him from his home! Do you know what I did to keep him in line? It's no wonder he tried to run away when he first arrived; I was a terror, that's what I was! If only I could tell him that. If only I could say how sorry I am for what I did…"

Everything around them turned white and misty, and another scene faded in all around them.

Reza was sitting in the living room of his house. His face was bloodied and bruised. Before him stood Rafik, who fidgeted in place and shed a pair of tears. Reza let out a patient breath and said, "Salim called you a ghost, didn't he? And so you hit him, to prove you weren't a ghost." Rafik nodded again, and he looked as if he were about to cry. "Are...Are you going to hit me, Papa?" Reza's face fell. "Oh, my son...did I not tell you when Aslan came, that there would be a new order of things?" The boy nodded yet again, but he looked unconvinced. He and Navid were bowing their heads in shame. Reza paused, then laid his hands on their shoulders. "Look at me," he said. "This will never again be a house where my sons or any animals are hit. But do you know why it was wrong to hit Salim?" Rafik nodded and said, "Because it's not Aslan's way. But Papa, he didn't believe me!" Reza smiled sadly. "I know. It hurts when someone you love is mocked and ignored. But I want you to remember what Aslan has done. He has been shouted at and disbelieved, and never once has he argued or fought. It is that kind of Lion strength we ought to have when these things happen—to overlook insults, to keep the peace, and to love others who hate us—and I know you have that in you. Both of you do. But you need to act on it, because it will always be Aslan's way." After that, there was silence, and then Rafik's head rose. "I want to apologize to Salim." Navid nodded at that idea. "So do I..."

Faraji stared on, though he aimed his words at the beast. "How wrong we have been," he said in a breath. "If this is what Aslan's way is like, how foolish were we to think we could do better. Truly, is that what love does, mehan?" he said softly. "Does it move people to treat others with that sort of kindness?"

The beast said nothing—but his purr left no room for doubt.

After Reza dismissed the boys, he turned to Nazira. His wife smiled brightly and wrapped her arm around his. "Last week, you wondered how you could ever be like Aslan. You sound more like him than you think." The smile that flicked up his face didn't last. "What I had done before…to think that I once used a whip on my own children…I want to do better. My family, my people…they deserve a better man than the one I was before."

At that, Faraji realized he was sniffling and his eyes full of tears. "He already is," he said. "He is not the same man who took me from my home. Why, he is not even the same man who sent me on this quest."

A pause, and Faraji let out a heavy breath. "Mehan, I want to go back—and I want it to be for good. I want to forgive him, just as Queen Susan did. I want to be as kind to him as you have been to me. He has hurt me and treated me with hate, but no matter what he has done, I don't want him to live with that fear and guilt."

The beast purred again. "That, too, is what love does," it said. "It heals."

Faraji turned away as another scene dissolved all around them. And what he saw made his eyes nearly bulge out of his skull. It was the great beast, the same one who had walked with Faraji out of Anvard.

The beast stood upon a grassy hill, and the sun rose up behind its back. Down the slope sat a camp of red and gold tents. A whole army of Narnians—centaurs, naiads, dryads, leopards, cheetahs, and three children—were looking on from afar. Before the beast stood before a young boy with black hair; the boy stared at him with wide eyes. (Faraji didn't need to ask to know who it was—it was Edmund, minus fifteen years.) "Sir," he said, flushing as if the word were somehow rude now, "I...I'm sorry." The beast nodded its great, shaggy head. "Son of Adam, what happens to those who commit crimes in your world?" The boy sniffled. "Sometimes, they get away with it. Quite often, they get away with it." The beast nodded. "And what happens to those who do right?" "They can be rewarded, but most of the time it seems like they're not." "Indeed," said the beast, "but that is not so in Narnia. An act of treason must be answered, just as every act of kindness must be rewarded." Edmund nodded. "I reckoned that, Sir," he said. "And I...I'm ready. I'll take what I have coming." He looked over his shoulder at his brother and sisters (there was no doubt in Faraji's mind who they were, either). "I sold them for a price. That was a right beastly thing I did. And if I have to die, it couldn't be any worse than how I feel now." The beast looked very solemn and stern at that remark. "If you die in this state, you will go to a land from which there is no return, where the penalty for your deed will be paid in full." At that, Edmund blanched, and his mouth fell open. "But I do not want that for you, child," said the beast in a gentler tone. "I am willing to put this right, and do even more. Long ago, there was a prophecy spoken about you and your brother and sisters, and I will see to it that it comes to pass." Edmund started to smile at that, but it quickly fell. "Wait a minute," he said; "you said that someone would have to die. Who is it?" The beast lifted its regal head and spoke two words that made Edmund's face fall. "It is I."

Faraji's mouth fell as everything around him grew dark. He turned to the beast, to demand an explanation, but the next scene slid into focus.

The beast lay on a great stone slab, and monsters and Talking Beasts jeered at him. The Witch stood over him with a cruel smile on her lifeless, cold face. "Stop! Let him first be shaved." Laughter and jeering went up from all around as the great beast's mane was shorn from his head. A polar bear growled, which sounded more like a laugh than anything, and said, "Why, he's only a great cat, after all!" Somewhere, a girl's voice shrieked, "Oh, how can they! The brutes, the brutes!" The Witch didn't seem to hear it (not that it would have done any good). "Muzzle him!" she cried, and as the monsters bound up his face, the great beast lay there on the slab. Another girl screamed, "The cowards! The cowards!" Through the torches that snapped and danced, one could see her horror and grief twisting her face. Then the Witch took a terrible stone dagger between her fingers. "And now, who has won? Fool, did you think that by all this you would save the human traitor? Understand that you have given me Narnia forever, you have lost your own life, and you have not saved his. In that knowledge, despair and die."

Faraji leapt forward, but he might as well have been chasing a rainbow. There was nothing to swipe at, nothing to rip apart with his claws. The knife came down into the great beast's side, and Faraji felt himself screaming, "NO!"

Faraji felt the world shake beneath him. The slab upon which the great beast lay was now cracked straight down the middle. And the sun had just begun to rise straight ahead of him. Silhouetted in the light were the two girls who saw the beast's death. "They might have left the body alone," said Lucy. Susan shook her head and said, "Who's done it? What does it mean? Is it magic?" And the beast cried out, "Yes!" And it was as though the whole world had awoken. Golden light shone over the land, and most of it seemed to come from the beast's mane. Susan and Lucy spun around, and with one voice, they cried, "Oh, Aslan!"

As you have seen, Faraji has never been at a loss for words. One remembers that Philip said of him, "You speak as though you swallowed a book." But now, Faraji's emotions and thoughts went mad with wonderment and joy, for the first time in his life, he did not know what to say.

The great beast stared at the Witch, but aimed his words at the centaurs. "Fall back!" he growled. "The Witch is mine." And with a roar, he leapt at her and both tumbled out of sight, but Faraji knew she was dead...

Faraji saw himself in Rasul, bleeding from the nose and mouth. Dr. Sharaz stood over him, trying to ease his discomfort, but the agony was so deafening, so dumbing, Faraji could only cry...but beside him, unbeknownst to him, stood the great beast. "Be strong, child," he said, his voice strong and steady, but darkened by melodies of grief. "Do not give up...Be strong..." Faraji did not hear it; all he did was groan in agony...

"Fear and threats produce goodness...full of misery and punishment. There is no peace, no joy, no love..."

Faraji saw himself crying in Anvard, just as the beast padded up to him and opened its great mouth...but no noise came out. It was a long, warm breath, the one that had made Faraji dry once more..."Who are you?" said Faraji, and the beast smiled on him. "I am the answer to your prayer."

And as great golden light wrapped itself all around the world and grew to a blinding crescendo of glory and beauty, voices dissolved and mixed together, as though the whole world were speaking. "You have been so kind...Not once have you frightened or threatened me..."

"No one has ever spoken to me as kindly as you have. I daresay you care something for me—more than I care for myself..."

"Is that what love is, mehan?"

"How is it that you can say Aslan is so kind?"

"Is Aslan...anything like you?"

And at once, the world came back around them.

Faraji's face was wet with tears. He stood like a statue, and a paw hovered over the ground. His mouth hung open, his chest bellowing and squeezing shut to take in breath. All around him, grasses stood and glowed gold in the light of the newborn sun. On the horizon, atop an island far away, stood the castle of Cair Paravel and its white turrents. Faraji knew the beast was standing behind him, but he couldn't turn around. His limbs were going all trembly, but out of wonder, and at last, he found the words to say.

"It's…It's not...possible…"

And with a quavering breath and mouth agape, he looked over his shoulder. The big beast still lay on all fours, paws straight in front of his body, his big golden eyes glimmering, his mouth inching open and awaiting Faraji's every word.

"Are…Are you…?" The cheetah's breath came back into his lungs, and tears began to puddle in his eyes once more, but they were tears of joy. "Aslan..."

And the great beast laid his paw on Faraji's shoulder.

"Yes, child," he said softly. "I am Aslan."

There is no fear in love, because perfect love expels all fear. If we are afraid, it is for fear of punishment, and this shows that we have not fully experienced his perfect love. We love each other because he loved us first. ~ 1 John 4:18–19