She seemed to have woken up my desire for normal conversation. We spoke for hours. We realized we both loved the sound of waves being swept about by the wind. We discussed the ways one could whistle (I had never heard a sweeter whistle) and why the wilderness, at times, seemed more wonderful than one's own well-worn gardens. She understood me so well! At times, I found I wasn't sure how to say what I meant and then, she would supply the words I had been looking for. She was warm and wise and witty and winning in every way but she was, oh, so much more! Had she been sent to me by Aslan himself?
I found myself telling her how I had spoken to the stars last night, trying to find comfort in them as mother often had.
"Has a star ever spoken to you or sung you a song from the heavens?" she asked me.
" No," I admitted.
"Did a star ever touch your shoulder or hold your hand?" She asked. Then, with an easy smile, she gently touched my shoulder and ran her hand down my arm, finally letting her hand rest in mine.
I shook my head.
"Has a star ever smiled at you or wept with you at a moment of grief?" she asked seriously, although her eyes were smiling.
"Never."
"Then how do you expect comfort from it?"
I paused. "It can listen to one's troubles," I finally said, wondering why my argument sounded so feeble.
"But how do you know it does, if, it does not respond?" she asked me softly.
"Mother used to say, 'You can't know. You can only believe or not,'" I replied, suddenly feeling rather tired of the whole wretched argument and feeling as if I was really arguing against reason.
She frowned thoughtfully. "Your mother was a wise lady," she said.
"And so are you, madam," I answered, smiling.
We did not speak of serious things any longer. We walked in the shade and I picked her flowers. She told amusing stories of foolish giants and I told her of the Monopods that my father had met during his adventures on the Dawn Treader. We both laughed until we cried.
We spent the whole day together. I wouldn't have been aware of it, if she hadn't pointed at the lengthening shadows and the setting sun. "You should head back, my prince," she said smoothly. "It would not do to have your people worried by your absence."
She read the question in my face. "Do not fear, my prince," she said. "I will be here tomorrow."
Then she kissed Coalblack on the nose and called, "I will wait for you!" as I rode off.
I returned late and avoided speaking to my father that evening. He knew me well and would know right away that something had happened to me, something wonderful. I did not want him to know. Not just yet.
Kneeling by my bed that night, I whispered, "Dear Aslan, thank you for sending her to me." And right before I went to sleep, I had a strange sense that there was something I was missing. Something I had forgotten. What was it? It was not my hatred for the serpent. It was not my grief for my mother. Those two things which had dominated my mind for the past month, they were still there. They were just less forceful somehow. But it was something else…