"You're alright. It was just a dream," soothed Caity. The soldier whose bed she was perched on was still shaking. He needed to keep still, before he pulled out the stitches across his shoulder.

"I can't stop seeing them," the young man moaned. "Hundreds of people mowed down before they could do anything…men that I knew dying before my eyes. I saw Hopkins go down, and then Pevensie covered in blood but running for the village." He closed his eyes, as if trying to block out the horrors he was describing.

Caity's heart, meanwhile, had skipped a beat. Geoff Hopkins was dead, and even worse, Peter's fate was precariously unknown. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't suppress wild images of her fiancée lying amid a field of tangled bodies.

"I can't believe I thought them weak for not volunteering to enlist," muttered the soldier. "There's no glory in war, only death and destruction." Under the bruises and lacerations, he was one of the university students whom Peter had traded punches with so long ago.

The tension was too much. Seeing that her charge was falling back asleep, Caity hurried from the ward, fighting a losing battle with the tears that were trying to surface. Peter couldn't be gone…

She passed a doctor and another nurse almost without noticing them, if the nurse hadn't spoken at that very moment.

"Dr. Willard, Sgt. Pevensie's finally awake."

Peter's father! The severely injured man didn't know that his eldest son was on the front, much less missing. How could he be told, in his condition?

Back at home, Caity held the last letter she'd received from Peter and cried. Cried for her lost love, cried for his family, who didn't know yet what happened. This news had not arrived through official channels, so it would be up to her to break it to them. The letter had managed to make it back on a ship which had barely escaped enemy waters—dated the night before Peter said they would be cut off from any means of communication. Now he was truly lost on the front. The realization swirled endlessly around her head.

Downstairs, the front door opened and closed.

"Caity? The Pevensies called my office with wonderful news. Their father is being released to recover at home! We've been invited to supper to meet him. What do you think? Caity?" It took her father a minute or so to try checking her room, where she continued to hug the letter and a pillow.

"Is everything alright? Caity?" pressed her father, sitting and putting a hand on her shaking back.

Caity couldn't speak at first; she only shook her head. Her left hand clutched tighter on the letter, bringing her ring into view. New tears welled up.

"Caity? Darling?"

She shook her head more furiously. "I…I don't think I can face them right now."

"Why not?"

"Bec—I—I just can't!"

"If something's happened, I need to at least know about it," her father said gently.

Caity took several moments in attempt to calm down. Luckily, she'd had the sense to put a stock of handkerchiefs nearby. Finally, she was able to take a deep, shuddering breath, though she couldn't look her father in the eye. "As I was making my rounds, I heard something. Something terrible, from one of the injured soldiers. He was remembering an attack he'd been in, and…and he said he'd seen Peter disappear. Just like that. Still alive, at least then, but when I checked the list of names collected on the ship, Peter wasn't on it. No one has any idea where he is! Dead, alive, home, or—or—" She broke down once more.

Her father hugged her tightly. "Oh, Caity, just cry now. Does his family know?"

"N-n-no," Caity wimpered. "Nothing was through official channels. So I'd have to tell them, and I just can't bear it!"

"They'll have to know, dearest. It won't help to hide it from them."

"I know." Caity had never been so miserable, and that was saying a lot. "But they almost just lost their father; how could I have the heart to tell them they might have lost their son?"

"We'll find a way. If you're feeling too distraught, you don't have to come. I'll just tell them you weren't feeling well."

Indeed, the impassioned crying had left her feeling tired. Caity lay down on the pillow she was hugging. Her father rubbed her back for awhile, and then went back downstairs to let her rest. However, the quiet was both peaceful and unsettling.

Aslan, she pleaded in her thoughts, You did so much for me once. Please, watch over him out there. Lead him home. Before falling asleep, she pressed her lips to the ring on her left hand.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Uhnnn…"

Pain seemed to weigh Peter's whole body down. Dimly he realized that daylight was glowing through his eyelids. How long had it been? The last thing he remembered was a cloudy afternoon.

Eerie silence jogged his memory back to how he'd ended up where he was. The failed mission had brought them to the outpost, which was then attacked. All the explosions, men running in every direction, screaming…Peter had been on of many who had attempted to find shelter in the nearby town. But that had been attacked too.

Reluctantly, his eyes finally opened. The sun was just beginning to creep into the narrow alley, helped by the chunks of brickwork that were now missing from the top of the shop to his left. A sharp wind found its way through the passage, sending Peter into a fit of painful shivering. He needed to move, and soon.

Dust and rubble fell away noisily as Peter sat up. He tasted blood from the effort to keep from crying out. Pain had localized suddenly into his right wrist, which barely moved even when he put weight on it. There was also considerable topical pain at the back of his head. His good hand found hair matted with dried blood. That must have been the injury that knocked him out.

What if the Germans come back? The thought struck him. It's not safe. You're on your own now…

Despite his protesting head and cold, stiff body, Peter coaxed himself to his feet. Without British forces for orders and general security, he had only one mission: to get home alive. He'd promised his family, and he'd promised Caity. He had to make it.

The once-lively town's streets were deserted. There didn't seem to be any bodies, but if there were survivors, they remained well hidden. Shops that had suffered damage were simply left to the open. Peter found a bakery that still had edible goods; his stomach was quite empty. Unfortunately, water proved harder to find. He finally had to accept defeat for the time being and move on. Enemies could be anywhere.

Stories had circulated of soldiers and Jews being hidden on the rural farms, which were not in short supply. He could only hope however, that the people he found would be friendly. So much was uncertain.

Twice, some type of German patrol forced Peter into whatever hiding he could find. The way was slow going, especially with his injuries. By nightfall, he had to find some type of shelter where he could rest, or else risk passing out in the open. A nearby grove of trees would have to suffice. He couldn't help but wonder how long he could continue like this, with little food, clothing, and a rapidly progressing autumn.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"…Even on a calm night, only a few hours of exposure can pose a risk for lowered body temperature, and thus a higher susceptibility to illness," the professor warned dramatically. Caity kept her eyes steadily on the paper in front of her. She worked as a nurse—why did she still have to take a health class? All it did was feed her endless horrible situations that Peter could be facing at that very moment.

At long last, the dismissal bell rang. Even with her cane and limp, Caity was the first one out of the lecture hall.

"Hey! Wait up!"

Lizabeth, a poignant, red-haired girl and fellow nurse, ran to catch up. The two had struck up a friendship after Lizabeth's brother had been deployed as well. "Remind me never to challenge you to a race if Professor Hyde is the official."

Caity couldn't help but smile at this quip. The head professor of the health and science department was well known to be a bit eccentric, especially with an audience. 'Professor Hyde' was one of many affectionate nicknames that circulated among the university students.

"So, you're off to the victory garden, then?" asked Lizabeth.

"Of course." Each nurse had a day off every other week, to them working fresh. Both Caity and Lizabeth frequented the neighborhood victory garden to support their loved ones on these occasions. "Everyone's in a mad dash to finish the harvest before we start getting frost. And Mrs. Vincent isn't feeling so well, so once the crops are rationed out, we'll be bringing her share over to her, hopefully this evening."

"Bless her. She really does care for everyone in the neighborhood."

"And their families and friends," Caity added. "She was the one who helped the Pevensies find their new house."

Lizabeth smiled. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, since it's not my day off."

They said their goodbyes, Caity taking a cab, Lizabeth disappearing toward the Underground. The station nearest the Millers' house still required a fair walk, which was more difficult for Caity.

Gentle autumn sunlight fell upon the little community garden. The Pevensies were already there—Edmund was at football practice, but Mrs. Pevensie and the girls were busy picking the ripe vegetables. Sergeant Pevensie looked on from a lawn chair for the first time, still recovering from the war. Caity was struck by the resemblance Peter had to his father. The latter's hair was much lighter (and now beginning to turn grey), but there was no doubt that he possessed the same clear blue eyes and regal demeanor that she'd come to love in her fiancée.

"Well, it looks like work is well underway already," she said by way of greeting. "Why don't I fix everyone some tea?" A chorus of 'yes thank you's followed her to the Pevensies' house, which was just next door. Then the elderly couple from across the way walked up to join them, and Caity had to busy herself making sure everyone was accommodated. Having had to leave her cane outside so she could use both hands, the going was a bit slower than she would have liked.

"William, I don't believe you've actually met Caity yet," said Mrs. Pevensie, setting down a basket of turnips. "This is Caity Miller, whose father boarded Peter last year. She's to be part of our family before too long."

Caity nodded her respect as she passed the war veteran some tea. Despite his awful experience overseas, he had lost none of his sharpness. The keen blue eyes had already found her engagement ring.

"Ahh, a pleasure to meet you at last," he said genially. "After so long of hearing all the wonderful stories from Peter."

"Pleasure to meet you too, sir," replied Caity, blushing. However, the mention of the absent boy's name cast a pall over the whole party. She had to admire the entire family for putting on such a stiff upper lip, although Lucy in particular had abandoned much of her light-hearted disposition. War made for such difficult times in so many ways.

"Could I have a private word with Miss Miller?" asked Sgt. Pevensie, in an effort to save the moment. "I believe the runner beans should be picked today, by the looks of them." As the others returned to work, he motioned to another chair in which Caity could sit. Caity took a moment when her back was turned to wipe away the tears that had been forming.

"We all miss him, child."

"I know," sighed Caity. "I must seem silly compared to you, though. I mean, you're his family."

"I thought he was going to marry you," Sgt. Pevensie pointed out wryly.

Caity smiled in spite of herself. The older man's battle-marked hand took hers; she met his steady gaze a little reluctantly. Peter was so much like him…

"I won't say I'm not afraid, having been where he is. But he's a resourceful boy. He'll find his way back."