A/N & Disclaimer: Again, all I own is Toby and Mister Man who still needs a name.
Reveiws are great, I love them, hope you enjoy, the normal heading I put up here.
Thank yah!
Previously…
Lucy threw herself in the arms of her closest sibling. It happened to be Edmund, but he didn't push her away or even look embarrassed. He simply stared ahead at the wreckage in front of him, his face and Peter's both very white.
The rain had long ago ceased and Toby was just beginning to wake up. As one usually does when recovering from such a situation as he went through last night, he thought it all was just a dream and believed he was still lying in his den with his brothers and sisters. The sharp pain that shot through his legs as he tried to stand on them proved otherwise.
He wouldn't be able to walk for at least half an hour, he realized, and decided to roll over and let the cool morning air wash over him. In a way, it was refreshing, but as he breathed slowly in and out he couldn't help but long for the clear, fresh air of Narnia.
Dimly he wondered if there were any other Narnians trapped in this world, but dismissed the idea for later contemplation.
To any passers-by, he looked simply of a dirty stray dozing in the sun, so he was ignored by the general traffic of the street he had ended up on.
He watched lazily at the humans walking by, eyes narrowing at every animal he saw. They plainly weren't capable of speech, but he was interested anyway. The dogs, which he saw most frequently, were attached to long strips of leather held securely by humans, and Toby found he took pity on them.
He wondered what they would do in Narnia. Would they be granted the gift to talk? Would they stay as dumb beasts, and even then, would they realize what a blessing the Narnians had, the blessing to be free?
To wander wherever they pleased, in the presence of whomever they wished – not led along for man's pleasure on a tight rope. To run and romp and scrabble with others of their kind, and regard humans as friends instead of masters?
And how they would love – Toby was sure any sensible dog would – to race through the fields, splash in the rivers, or scamper through flowerbeds without a voice to scold them in anger!
Lost in thought, Toby closed his eyes.
A man in a black business suit walked swiftly along rows of shops in London. He had had a horrendous night, searching in vain for the dog he had unintentionally thrown across a room. In the midst of a thunderstorm, to add to the mess – he had been soaking wet when he'd tramped angrily back into his house in the dead of night.
Grumpily, he turned corner after corner in search of the street he had first seen the blasted brown thing on. Why did he care? But for some reason he couldn't stop himself.
Smiling at the tourists and shop owners as he went, his smile was quickly wiped from his face every time they left his sight.
Oh, what a horrible night last night had been! He couldn't stop thinking to himself. His muscles ached and he had an awful headache, all because of some stupid dog he couldn't get out of his mind. What a shock it was for him indeed when he discovered the heavy crate he had thrown with such force across the room had contained the brave animal he'd been looking for.
With a sigh, he walked on. He had no idea where he was, nor where he might be going, but kept on determinedly. All he knew was where he wanted to be heading. He looked for some kind of landmark, some sort of recognizable sight.
Today, he reflected, was going just as dreadfully. The sun was shining directly into his tired eyes and reflecting off the glass of all the windows in this blasted place. His shoes were making his feet sore, and his hands were badly bandaged – laying them on the rough and splinter-filled crates hadn't been his best idea ever.
Not to mention all the cuts and bruises he had acquired from scrambling around the darned shop.
About time! He thought, finally spotting an odd tree that he remembered was two streets away from his brother's old business. He started forward again, faster this time, only to trip over his own feet halfway there. Flustered and tomato-red, he got back up again. Why, oh why did he even bother? What on earth was so important to him about this dog? He couldn't fathom the answer to either of his questions, but he could not stop himself from going, either.
Finally he found himself at the end of the street he was looking for. He stood still for a minute and watched as the last figure left the road, and then continued on. His eyes were puffy and half closed as he reached for the door handle, but the door handle was not there. He blinked, right hand still grasping air.
The door looked normal from a distance, but he discovered it was dislodged – pushed back into the walls, and a bit broken. The windows of the shop were shaded. He jerked, tugged, and pulled on the door and eventually got it open. He stopped dead in his tracks.
What ever had happened? It was in the same terrible state the Pevensies had seen it in the early morning (though he, of course, didn't know this). The crates, the crates were destroyed beyond reckoning and he was positive he hadn't had any part in it. The only crate he himself had broken, he remembered, was the one with the dog. What absolutely horrific luck he had! He thought, glowering. To demolish one box, only one, to find out there was a brave canine hiding inside that one box – and to come back the next day to find the whole place left in utter chaos.
His words were snatched from him in one breath of wind and he was rendered speechless.
The Pevensies never did manage to sleep that night. The following day, Helen Pevensie awoke to find all four of her children gloomily eating breakfast, all with dark circles rimming their eyes. They were talking softly, but not much.
They all jumped with a start when they saw her.
"Morning, mum," Peter said.
"What have you all been doing?" Helen started, hands resting on her hips.
"Nothing, mum," Edmund said, thinking quickly. "We were just, ah, talking about the birthday presents we wanted to buy for you." Her birthday was in about a week, and they always held a small celebration for her. "That's why we were so startled when you walked in." Edmund finished.
"Oh," Mrs. Pevensie said. She sighed. The four of them had never been the same after they came back from Professor Kirke's house. Since when had they cared so much about her birthday? What had gotten into them? Perhaps the war was the reason they weren't so child-like anymore? Helen didn't like the explanation, but accepted it. They had told her they missed the old man – perhaps that was it.
She looked up, studying them each carefully.
Peter was still looking at her, eyelids drooping heavily. He obviously hadn't gotten much sleep in the past week. It was strange, but he seemed to have such a strong air of authority about him – perhaps because he was the oldest, she considered. He even looked a bit regal or noble, but Helen dismissed the thought and moved on.
Susan was absently stirring her drink, occasionally taking a sip. She looked so thoughtful and so caring – almost like she had played the part of mother to her siblings while they were at the Professor's. Her hair, Helen noticed, looked like it had been brushed more often and her demeanor was gentle.
Edmund was looking at her also, but his eyelids weren't drooping quite as much as Peter's. She looked into his eyes, and was surprised at what she saw there – intelligence, wisdom, and such depth. She was glad to see one thing familiar, she thought, as she noticed the mischievous twinkle that still lingered.
Lucy was unusually quiet. She was still the bubbly little girl Mrs. Pevensie knew and loved, but she also had more of a depth to here bright eyes, more than any child should. Lucy's eyes also reflected wisdom like her brother's, and she was much more graceful than she had been before the war. Games of hide-and-seek and such had abruptly ended.
Helen didn't know what to think.
"Say – would you four like to visit Professor Kirke with your father in two weeks?" she asked, smiling warmly. She was sure this is what they needed, and would accept the idea without question.
But they didn't.
Peter and Edmund exchanged nervous glances, and Susan looked shocked. Lucy, to Mrs. Pevensie's dismay, looked like she was about to cry.
"Certainly – mum," Peter said after an awkward silence, with a distant smile. Susan to her credit tried to smile also, but the smile looked hopelessly fake, plastered across her face at that moment.
"Alright, then," Mrs. Pevensie said.
She turned from the dining room and discreetly wiped a small tear from her eye. Where had her children gone?
A/N: Alrighty, I hope that chapter was okay! I gave Toby a little break here, he had it hard in the last two chapters. Also, if you were wondering what exactly he looks like, I imagined him to be very similar to one of the dogs illustrated in The Last Battle, standing to the right of Tirian. Not sure what page it's on, because everyone has different copies/versions and mine is not with me right now. Anyway, hope you like this story so far! Thanks for reading.