"Lucy!" Timothy called. Staggering backwards under Peter's sudden weight, she craned her neck up to look at him. There was an open gash on his forehead, and his mail was ripped in places, but he seemed all right otherwise. "That thing isn't dead. Be careful."
She looked at the monster, which was still twitching feebly on the ground. Six of its ten legs (four on one side, two on the other) were bleeding and broken off, and the remaining four had snapped under the weight of its bulky body. But a few of the severed ones still made weak attempts to lash out at her. Lucy carefully laid Peter on the ground, reasoning that if she didn't make the area safe, both she and her brothers would be in danger. Then she drew her dagger.
Across the pit, separated from Lucy and Peter by the dying creature, Edmund had pulled his sword out of his own leg and was leaning against the wall, his chest heaving with his heavy breathing. The wound in his thigh was gaping wide, blood coursing down it and probably pooling in his boots. His eyes were closed with the effort of remaining conscious, and Lucy knew he needed tending to immediately. She checked Peter's pulse quickly – it was faint, but there, so she hurriedly began the short but treacherous journey to the younger king's side.
She was halfway there (and a fair amount closer to the monster) when a leg made a real swipe at her, swinging towards her at an alarming rate even as the creature squealed in pain.
"Watch out!" Timothy yelled rather unnecessarily. Lucy ducked, and it swung over her, splattering her face with a few globs of sticky crimson monster-blood. It was disgusting. She wiped it off, probably leaving smudges all over, and stepped over another fallen leg. In a few moments she was at Edmund's side, sheathing her dagger and instead procuring her cordial, which she uncorked and held to his lips. Even Edmund wasn't stubborn enough to deny what would save his life, so he accepted the carefully poured droplet and swallowed.
The blood slowed, then stopped, and he opened his eyes. Gingerly lowering his injured leg to the ground, he put some experimental weight on it, and did not flinch. He let out a long breath, as if he had been holding it since he'd been hit (perhaps he had, thought Lucy), then turned and put a hand on her shoulder gratefully. Keeping in character, his next words were of course not of his own injury, but of…
"Peter?" he asked, reaching to pick up and wipe his sword.
"Come on," she replied. Timothy was still hovering on the edge of the pit, apparently unsure as to what he should do. His sword was buried in the monster's head, so his options were rather limited. Lucy and Edmund picked their way across the leg-strewn landscape without incident, and there Lucy administered the cordial to her eldest brother, who shuddered and breathed a little easier, though he did not wake up (even when Edmund shook him).
"Well, blast," Edmund muttered crossly. He was still rather faint, Lucy noticed, so she told him to sit down, and for once, he obeyed. Then she looked around for a way out.
Peter's unconsciousness made everything much less feasible. Neither Lucy nor Edmund was strong enough to carry him, and no side of the pit had a gentle enough slope to let them drag him. In the end, with Timothy's guidance, they agreed to first figure out a way to get the two youngest Pevensies out, then they and Timothy would work to help Peter. Perhaps he would be awake by then, anyway.
The safest and easiest way to get out, since there were no ropes about, was almost the same way she had gotten down, only with less urgency and therefore more caution. Lucy took her dagger and hacked out crude hand holds in the side of the pit, usually holding on with one hand as she carved out the next bit, until she had reached the top and Timothy hoisted her up by the armpits. Predictably, Edmund would not leave his brother's side, especially since the creature was still alive. Its sightless face was turned towards them, its jaws lazily opening and closing as frothy saliva and blood dripped from its fangs. It was obviously dying; Lucy almost pitied it.
"We can't waste any more time," Timothy said, throwing up his hands. "You want to rescue your sister. I want to rescue my people. We're not going to do it by sitting here and waiting. We need to start thinking."
"Give me another minute," Edmund said tiredly. "I'm feeling a little better, then I can carry him…"
"…no," Lucy said sternly. "You can't. And you know it."
Edmund slumped back against the pit wall dejectedly.
"We need a rope," Timothy grumbled.
"We're in a forest," said Edmund, a biting edge to his tone. "In case you hadn't noticed."
"Maybe we could use a vine?" Lucy suggested.
"It will turn out to be a snake."
"Oh, will you quit being so…"
"Shut up," Peter grumbled. Edmund stumbled over his own feet and fell over. Timothy blinked. Lucy hurried to the edge of the pit and craned her head down, looking over her brother. He was still sitting where Edmund had propped him up against the pit wall, and he hadn't moved even to pick up his sword, which lay beside him, but he was awake.
"Oh, Peter, how are you feeling?" she asked concernedly.
"Well I can't move, if that's what you're asking," he said casually. Edmund, recovering quickly from his misstep, punched his brother's armored shoulder hard.
"You great bloody lump!" he lectured. "You go walking ages and ages ahead of us and get taken by some giant…giant…thing, and we have to come and rescue you, and…"
"…why can't you move?" Lucy called, interrupting Edmund (who continued anyway).
"I'm numb," Peter explained. "But it was the same way when I woke up earlier. Only then I couldn't feel anything but a sort of burning sensation. Now that's gone. I just can't feel anything below shoulder level."
"You got up before," she pointed out. "Do you think that will happen again? Thank you, by the way."
"Yes, I can feel more and more the longer I'm awake," he answered. Edmund, finished with his rant, picked up Rhindon and sheathed it for his brother. "Give me another five minutes and I'll bet I can get up."
"Don't push yourself," she said worriedly. He nodded.
"If you don't mind," said Timothy, who'd remained silent until now. "I really don't fancy wandering through this wood without a weapon. Is there any way one of you down there could pick it up for me?"
Lucy glanced at the creature, where Timothy's sword was buried to the hilt in its head. She didn't fancy collecting it.
"I'll get it," Edmund said.
"Don't be stupid," Peter said curtly.
"You're one to talk."
Edmund strode forward, dodging the limbs and stepping around so that the jaws were facing away from him. Still faintly alive, the creature tried to roll its head towards him, but didn't find the strength, and he was left looking at the back of its hairy body. Lucy held her breath as he droved his sword into its side, receiving more gore in return, and stepped up onto the blade. His balance was excellent – Edmund had always been a more devious fighter than Peter, and so had picked up a few nifty tricks. Reaching up, he managed to get his fingertips on the edge of Timothy's sword. Thankfully, the blood of the creature acted as a lubricant and allowed him to pull it out smoothly. But in the process of withdrawing it, he must have hit something rather painful, because the huge, hairy body jerked suddenly, and his footing slipped.
Fortunately, dirt makes a good cushion and Edmund's landing was rather padded. He pulled out his own sword, wiped both weapons on the ground (and brazenly did not move more than a few feet away from the monster), and picked his way across the bottom of the pit back to his brother's side.
"I can feel my hips," Peter announced. Edmund didn't even dignify it with a reply. Lucy, glad that he'd made progress, told him that was wonderful, and Timothy looked, if possible, even more skeptical about their claim about being royalty.
It was another ten minutes before Peter had regained the use of his toes, and another twenty (during which the sky above the clearing began to dim) before he thought himself fit to climb up the makeshift ladder Lucy had carved in the pit wall. This he seemed to manage with will alone, dragging himself to the top of the pit and almost falling back down, though Edmund and Timothy quickly reached down and pulled him onto safer ground. Then the four of them sank down on the pit edge, all worn out, and hoped never to encounter such a horror again.