Alright, it's been a while but I've gotten a lot of work done on this story so it's time to start posting again! I apologize for the delay, I just wanted to make sure that this story was as good as I could get it before posting.

Most importantly, thank you so very much to liz-04, sarahwood, Guest, and Cursed Heart for reviewing! It was fantastic to hear from you and I loved seeing your reactions to and thoughts on the previous chapter. For those reviews I couldn't respond to via PM, I'll reply at the end of the chapter.

Enjoy!

Chapter 7

Miranda groggily opens her eyes to see a familiar white-washed ceiling. It feels like it's been a long while since she's been here, and in a strange way, she finds that she missed it. The hospital is cold and clinical, yes, but it's also where she got to see her mom. Miranda supposes that the hospital and her room feel familiar.

But when she turns her head and sees a face from her nightmares, she can't help her scream.

Instantly, his hand claps over her mouth, silencing her cry. She thrashs against it, the IV in her hand wiggling around and forcing her to stop moving so much. That doesn't stop her from biting down on his hand, as hard as she possibly can.

Now it's his turn to shriek, and he does, his unhurt hand pressing against the teeth marks in his left one. A single drop of blood splashes onto the floor. It's quite satisfying. It's his turn to bleed, and that's just fair. He deserves so much worse.

He swears, and Miranda marvels that no one has come to see what the commotion is yet. It doesn't occur to her to scream again, because she's too busy watching him like a hawk, ready if he tries anything at all. She'll scream loud enough for the entire state to hear if he touches her again.

"Any part of you that touches me, I will remove," she finally says, her voice shaking so much more than she'd like. Ito her mind and probably to his too, she sounds like a scared little girl.

"Hear me out, will you?"

She doesn't say anything, because she honestly doesn't care what he has to say. But she knows she's vulnerable in a hospital bed, and there's only so much she can do. It frustrates her to no end, but she manages to pretend Suncloud is in the room next to her, and the thought calms her enough that the panic is manageable.

"I'm here to square things up," he says. She doesn't even remember his name.

"I don't care." There, much better; her voice is level, and strong. It's not a voice to argue with.

"I never thanked you, alright? It was a great night, and I know you're probably upset I didn't call, or something. So thanks."

All Miranda can do is stare at him incredulously. He thinks she's angry at him because he didn't call? And she is angry. She's never noticed this before, but she's so furious now that she could easily castrate him herself without an ounce of guilt. Anger is new to her, and it's intoxicating in its strength. If he has half a brain, he won't push her.

"Get out." Two words, spit from her mouth with more venom than ten snakes. She stares him down so he'll know she means it, really means it. She'll fly at him if he doesn't leave, she's sure of it.

"Don't be like that-" he starts to say. She doesn't waste any time in cutting him off.

"No. You don't get to say anything. Leave, now." With her eyes, she promises him a world of pain if he doesn't.

He puts his hands up, palms facing her in what she supposes is supposed to be a placating gesture. It doesn't work.

Barely realizing what she's doing, Miranda bares her teeth and snarls like a cornered animal, and this finally does the trick. He backs away, hands still up, and she smirks at the sight of his bleeding palm. Slowly, he backs out the door and closes it behind him.

It's then, at the sound of the closing door, that she starts awake.

She jerks from her cramped position at the loud sound that's startled her from her sleep.

Immediately, she feels her body tense, ready for a fight. The faun who woke her is staring at her funny, standing just far enough away that she can't reach him. He's right to be cautious; she's a wild card right now.

"Give me a second," she manages to say, forcing herself to relax enough to communicate that she's not about to pounce on him.

He just nods and hurries off, leaving her to wheeze and try to get her heart under control. It's pounding like she's just run a mile in five minutes or less, and she doesn't like it; she likes it almost as little as the sheen of cold sweat on her brow and palms.

Eventually, she's calm enough to join them for breakfast, where she pretends not to notice their concerned looks. Bulgy Bear even asks if she's alright; she has to remind herself that it'd be very rude to reply that it's no one's business. Instead, she settles for thanking him for his concern through her teeth and telling the group that she simply had a bad dream.

If only it had been just a dream.

Throughout the day's trek, all Miranda can think of is how clammy his hand was, how his blue eyes glittered in the dim light, how bitter his blood tasted in her mouth. How did he know she was in the hospital? How did he know what room she was in? How did he know when the nurses would be out? How could he possibly have known all of those things?

This time, when Bulgy Bear lapses into another speech about how he misses honey, it takes all of her willpower not to tell him to be quiet, that she's sure no one wants to hear about the damn honey. Pity that her good mood has worn off so soon, but that's not really her fault, is it? How could she have known that her demon would have come out to play again?

That night over a meager dinner of roots and a bit of bread, one of the fauns asks her if the journey is tiring her. Miranda inwardly curses her inattention to her attitude over the day and replies that it must be something along those lines. They accept this explanation for her mood, but she offers to take the first watch because she feels a little guilty for not hiding her troubles better.

Once they all go to bed and she's promised to wake the Minotaur for the second watch, she relishes in the quiet. The moon is waning, and now only a crescent peeks at her through the trees. She misses the full moon.

If she's honest, she misses her usual companion as well, even if only just a little, little bit.

Those quiet moments in the middle of the night she shared with Prince Caspian were peaceful and simple, and she can't be blamed for missing them a little, right? It's normal to miss the company of a friend.

When did her and the prince become friends?

To Miranda's surprise, that thought is the one that sticks throughout the rest of her watch. It even echoes in her mind as she wakes the Minotaur for his shift and as she curls up on a mossy patch for the night. She falls asleep still wondering about the whole thing.

The next morning, her mood hasn't improved in the slightest, though she does manage to put on a chipper face when the same faun from the previous morning nudges her awake. She really can't blame him for keeping his distance.

Over the course of the day, Miranda does try to keep up decent conversations. Bulgy Bear again turns out to be the easiest to talk to, mostly because he does almost all of the talking for her. All she has to do is submit the occasional hum of interest and perhaps a well-placed question. The day passes much like this, with Bulgy chattering and the fauns murmuring amongst themselves and the Minotaur keeping an eye out for trouble at the rear. They see the How just as the sun's sinking below the horizon.

Miranda's first impression is that it only looks like a big, rocky hill. Her second impression? That it's a rocky hill with trees and grass on the sides.

"It used to be much grander," a faun tells her. She never did get around to asking everyone's name…

'And now it's a pile of grand ruins,' Miranda thinks. Maybe she shouldn't judge the place so harshly, but how is this going to help them withstand an attack from Caspian's uncle and his (she's heard) quite powerful army?

"There should be groups training in the field behind the How. I can show after you settle in, if you'd like."

Miranda thanks the faun, a different one than before, and refrains from saying that she really doesn't think there's much settling in to be done here.

Instead, she follows them quietly to the stone rectangle that acts as the door to the rough structure. Naturally, it must have been much nicer looking when it was first built, but that was centuries ago by the looks of it.

As soon as they're inside, the pounding of metal and hammers assaults them. Miranda cringes a little at the sheer volume, even though she knows this is necessary and good if the Narnians want to win their war. It's just that this is much louder than the slam of the front door back home.

"Where am I supposed to get settled in?" she asks Ornus, the curly-haired faun next to her whose name she finally asked for.

"Follow me," is all he says, too preoccupied with admiring the work of the Narnians to really pay that much attention. She doesn't mind it; she's just glad she's not alone in the midst of the din of the weapon-making.

He leads her and Bulgy Bear to an alcove deeper into the How where indents from previous night are already made in the dirt.

"No luxury here, I'm afraid."

"I didn't expect any," Miranda answers truthfully. Really, how much worse can it be than sleeping on the ground back in the woods? At least here she can perhaps get a pillow, even if it is a rock.

"I can take your food pack," Ornus offers. Of course, the food is communal. Maybe she can help out in the cooking department while she's here; if she can move her arms after training that is.

"Thanks." Miranda hands it over with a shrug and starts to take off her sweatshirt, the same one she's worn for days.

"I think we can find you something a bit more appropriate for training."

"That might be a good idea," she agrees with Ornus sheepishly.

Since she didn't bring much of anything aside from her food pack, Miranda dumps her dirty sweatshirt that used to be a nice baby blue in a shadowy corner of the alcove and follows Ornus back out. Bulgy mumbles something about going to see if his brothers are there yet. He's ambled off before she gets to ask about them. Bulgy had spent so much time talking about honey that she's sure he forgot to mention his siblings. No matter; she can meet them later.

"Windmane will likely know where to find you some proper things," Ornus says as he leads her through winding pathways with stone walls that echo their footsteps back at them.

"Windmane?" she asks.

"Glenstorm's wife."

"Ah." She doesn't bother to say that she didn't know he had a wife, because after all she's still quite new here and how could she possibly know that when the centaur has only said a maybe a full paragraph within her earshot?

The whole thing is starting to get to the overwhelming threshold, with the new place and all the new people and getting a new wardrobe and wondering just how awful she'll be at weaponry. Miranda was just starting to feel a tiny bit of pride in herself for how well she handled the transition overall, but now it feels like too much even if she's trying to talk it down so it isn't.

Still, she hides her discomfort well enough it seems; Ornus doesn't comment on it as they make their way to Windmane. Miranda's sure the lady centaur is quite nice, but nothing is quite sticking and so the whole thing of meeting her and introducing herself and giving a quick overview of why she, an unheard of Daughter of Eve, is here in Narnia. Before she even knows it, the centaur has pressed a small stack of clothes into her arms and is apologizing for something about there only being breeches left but they do allow mobility anyway. Miranda thinks she manages to come up with something resembling a coherent thank you as she's shooed on her way to put on the training clothes.

Ornus is kind enough to wait for her since Windmane has some medicine mixing to do, if she heard correctly.

Once she's outside behind the How, everything slows to a stomachable speed and Miranda is left silently wondering if she really was that overwhelmed.

'It's just a new environment, get a grip,' she tries to tell herself. It was just a lot to take in. Right?

There's no room for her to be overwhelmed now; Ornus is pointing her to a group of Narnians, mostly centaurs and fauns, swinging swords around with varying levels of skill.

"Urothorn will help you get started." Ornus gestures to a tall and intimidating centaur with light brown hair and stern lines on his forehead with a few fauns who look younger than the rest and then Miranda finds she's on her own.

It takes her a solid few minutes to work up the nerve to go and introduce herself to the group. Her nerves turn out to be silly; Urothorn is actually quite kind to her. Not so intimidating in words, merely in appearance.

Miranda tries her utmost to concentrate. The basic footwork and stance comes to her rather quickly: keeping the heels in line, bending the knees, weight centered, chest high. Even holding a sword isn't so bad; her arm only shakes a little as she finds a comfortable grip.

"Ease your grip," Urothorn tells her. He moves to correct her white-knuckled fingers, so she tries to quickly correct it herself. Her success is limited; when he does correct her, she repeats to herself that this is Urothorn and he's not going to hurt her until her heart stops pounding quite so frantically in her ears.

"Try again," he says.

Miranda keeps silently repeating that Urothorn is not going to do anything to her as she forces her arms to stop shaking so she can hold the damned sword properly. She tries the extension again, and it's apparently satisfactory for her third go round. When her teacher moves on to help the next student, Miranda lets out a breath she wasn't fully aware of holding.

'I am not cut out for this,' she thinks, even as she notes that she can't have been at it for more than half an hour.

Her training continues in much the same cycle of mistake, correction, half-panic, and forced focus for the next few hours, long after the sun's set. Urothorn only lets them stop when it's too dark to reasonably practice. Torches would be too obvious, as he tells her when she suggests it.

"We will continue tomorrow at dawn," Urothorn tells the little group.

Dawn? Miranda does her best not to groan, but she isn't sure how well she hides her grimace. It sounds like her nightly vigils are at an end; she can't stay up to all hours if she has to be somewhere at dawn.

At least no one's expecting her company, are they?

The smile that turns the corners of Miranda's mouth up isn't all that cheery. She isn't sure why, exactly, she misses the company of Prince Caspian, but she does know she isn't happy about the sentiment. Time on her own will do her a world of good.

She joins the group of her fellow trainees for dinner, though she knows her attempts at being social are pitiful at best. To his credit, a faun named Nartus tries to spark a conversation with her as she picks at her food and smiles at something one of the others said. He says something about the training and isn't Urothorn doing so well with them.

"He's a good teacher," she answers mildly. She can tell he's shy, this Nartus, and a little bit of her wants to make him more at ease. So she asks him about himself, gets him talking for a good half hour. He seems grateful for the listening ear, and she's happy to have someone to do all the talking so she can simply listen and hum in the right places.

"And what of yourself?" he asks her after a little bit.

Miranda shakes her head. "I'm afraid I'm really quite boring. Tell me more about your brother."

And thus she avoids having to say much of anything for the rest of dinner.

A day of training passes, and then another. It doesn't get any easier as she learns more; if anything the entire ordeal is worse every time. Urothorn comments on her skittishness more than once, and she's getting increasing bad at lying through her teeth. Practice doing so is accomplishing nothing to help her predicament.

Of course, on one particularly bad day, Urothorn dismisses them in a hurry with the word that the Kings and Queens of Old have finally arrived with Prince Caspian and the rest of the Narnians. Miranda contemplates sneaking off so she won't have to deal with the crowds, but once Nartus starts talking to her that plan is shot. So she has little choice except to follow the crowd inside to the entry to the How and shout in welcome to the new arrivals.

Or, in Miranda's case, mouth the words of welcome without actually releasing a sound. She doesn't even know them, after all. They could be completely asinine and awful.

"They're so young," Nartus calls to her above the din that quiets as the royal group comes closer.

Miranda nods. She supposes the Narnians were expecting someone a bit older, but she had no expectations at all and so she's not overly concerned with their age. The one thing she is worried about? The tall blonde one in the middle who could have curly hair and the eyes of a spider if she can't keep her mind in check.

Her palms are sweating already, even though the group is a ways away yet. Centaurs clip-clop to either side of the entrance to the How and draw their swords in what she can only guess to be an ancient royal welcoming, or something of the sort.

She's more than grateful to be hidden in the depths of the crowd inside the How, especially when she notes that the torchlight will likely obscure her face and she'll blend in even more. If Nartus would hush, that is.

Is there a polite way to tell him to close his mouth for a mere minute while the monarchs pass? She's counting on her self-control to get her through the fear pushing at her chest, but that all hinges on remaining an unremarkable, unnoticeable face in the crowd.

"Here they come," says the faun. Miranda only manages not to grit her teeth in annoyance with a surge of willpower.

But just for the heck of it, she slips behind her faun friend just as the four Kings and Queens enter the How in a perfect line.

Almost immediately, just at the sight of the tall and imposing blonde one in the middle, she can feel her palms sweating, her legs cramping in preparation for a flight for her life. It's a bit absurd, considering no one at all is looking at her, especially not the King of Old, yet the choking feeling of needing to get away and hide remains.

'And what good would hiding do?' her mind whispers. 'This is their arena; they must know every nook and cranny.' She can feel her face paling just at the thought. 'There is nowhere to hide, silly goose.'

The four are followed by Prince Caspian, who, she notices, looks just a little lost. What is his position, now that the old royalty is back? She isn't sure, and she thinks he might not be either.

He glances around as he walks behind the four, and for just a moment his eyes lock with hers as she peeks out from behind Nartus. Maybe he acknowledges her, but she darts back behind her unwitting bodyguard before she knows.

Once the royal party has passed on into the heart of the How, where the rings and rough poundings of hammers on metal sound relentlessly. Nartus is babbling something about perhaps getting the chance to meet them in her ear as she turns to head back outside to finish the training for the day.

"It's not every day this sort of thing happens," the faun finishes as he trots along next to her.

"I'm sure, but Urothorn won't be pleased if we skip our training," she tells him.

"Perhaps at dinner then!"

She just shakes her head and lets him toss ideas around. If it makes him happy, why not? It's not as if she has to meet them too.

"Mira!"

Instantly she stops mid-lunge and grins at the centaur she hasn't seen in a few days.

"Suncloud! I wondered when you'd show your face!" She hesitates only a moment before running toward Suncloud, grin still in place.

He leans down and swoops her into a tight hug that lifts her onto her tippy-toes, and for a few moments she forgets how much the past few days have worn on her.

"I see you've indeed been training." The centaur winks over at the group still hard at work swinging their practice swords with some sense of precision.

"I have." Miranda's reply is cool, measured, and she thinks it says that she doesn't want to talk about it.

"Is it so terrible?"

She can only shrug like she's just baffled by her slow progress, even though she knows perfectly well why weaponry isn't working for her. It's just that no one else needs to know.

"Maybe I'm just not used to it yet," she finally says.

She never, ever wants to be used to it.

But Suncloud buys her excuse and encourages her that it just takes a little time to adjust to it is all. She hums along in the right places. To her relief, he changes the subject at the first opportunity.

"After you've finished your drills for today, my father Glenstorm wishes to speak with you." Suncloud must see the trepidation on her face because he quickly adds, "We neglected to address your presence in Narnia at the Dancing Lawn, and he wishes to talk it over with you. That's all."

She's still a bit nervous, she can feel the telltale tremors in her fingers, but when Suncloud assures her that he'll be there the whole time too, she can relax just enough to seem normal again.

As it turns out, the best time for her to slip from her lessons is now, and so Miranda quickly finds herself scuttling after Suncloud with her heart in her throat. Glenstorm is Suncloud's father so he must be fine, but she can't help the fluttering of nerves in her insides. Sons can be very different from fathers, or fathers might not take so kindly to strangers, or…or…Miranda can't come up with a third scenario, but she's sure there has to be one.

She doesn't notice she's wringing her hands until one of her knuckles cracks.

Far too quickly for her taste, Suncloud leads her inside the How and the next thing she knows, he's introducing her to a dark centaur even taller than him and much more serious.

She quakes just standing there looking up at Suncloud's father. How easily could he snap her neck in two, if he so pleased?

"Welcome to Narnia, Miranda," rumbles a deep baritone that can only be the centaur staring down at her.

She struggles to find her voice for a few seconds before eventually getting something out.

"Thank you," she answers with a voice that tries so hard not to shake.

"I apologize for our negligence at Dancing Lawn and thereafter. There was much to do."

Does he always sound so solemn? In an odd sort of way, she might find it soothing were it not for her fright. All she can think is how quickly, how effortlessly Glenstorm could trample her under his hooves.

For that matter, so could Suncloud. So why does she not quake like a leaf around him?

'Focus, Miranda,' she chides herself, forcing her attention back to the centaurs waiting for some sort of answer, or acknowledgement at least, from her.

"War tends to keep people busy," she offers.

Glenstorm tips his head downward as if to appreciate her perspective before continuing.

"I believe we must try to discern what precisely you are here for. Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve are not brought to Narnia without a purpose."

Oh god, are they going to ask how she got here? How much of her past will they want to know?

More importantly, how much can she stand for them to know?

"There's no need to be frightened, Mira." Suncloud's words should be soothing, but all they do is shoot her distrust through the roof. What right do they have to the secrets of her past?

But rather than bite out those very sentiments, Miranda manages to swallow them in favor of a more respectful, "If you insist."

"We can go somewhere more private if you wish," Suncloud offers, concern wrinkling his forehead. He knows she's still uneasy at best.

Go somewhere more private where no one will be close by if she screams, or stay out in the relative open with the banging of metal-forging to cover her words but where anyone could walk by and hear some of it?

"Somewhere private might be helpful," she finds herself saying. So much the better, really. On the off chance she starts crying, better that as few people see it as possible.

Both centaurs nod and clop off down the hall, away from the banging of hammers and the hiss of hot steel hitting cold water. They stop after a few minutes in an alcove of sorts. No one else is in sight.

Miranda is both relieved and even more tense than before.

"Now, how is it you came to be in Narnia?" Glenstorm rumbles at her.

"Suncloud didn't fill you in?" She knows it must be rude, talking back like that, but she figures that a little sass is better than running off altogether. Perhaps.

"I would like you to tell me again. Details sometimes do not translate well."

Miranda isn't entirely sure what he means by that since she wasn't playing telephone with Suncloud. Still, best to just get this whole thing over with so she can get right to the stage of never speaking of personal matters like this again.

"I was on my way to a…doctor's appointment back home, after school. I was driving tired and-"

"Driving?" Suncloud interrupts. She realizes she never told him about cars.

"It's a way of quickly getting from one place to another in a machine…type…thing." She waves her hand around in the air, drawing a sketch of a car like that'll help them understand. The two centaurs regard her with pinched eyebrows and blank faces.

"Never mind, it's not all that important. Anyway, I lost control of the machine and I was injured. I woke up after the crash on the ground in Narnia, close to Trufflehunter's home. He and Nikabrik found me and took me in for the night."

"Is that all?" Glenstorm sounds as though he knows she's leaving some things out.

Naturally she is, but if she lies will they know the difference?

"That's what happened," she says. Half-truths are better than lies.

"And you noticed nothing out of the ordinary that day?" Suncloud asks her; quietly, like he's afraid of spooking her. With good reason.

"I'd been…" she bites her lip and tries to think of how to phrase it. "Out of sorts for a few days, but I didn't notice anything strange."

"Out of sorts how?" her friend presses her.

Miranda almost looses a withering glare on Suncloud just for asking, but she manages to cover with a cough and a shrug.

"I'd had a stressful time of it. Nothing major though." Now that is an outright lie, yet she doesn't quite care enough to take it back. Maybe if she hadn't woken to find that demon in her room back at the hospital, she could tell them, but she learned the painful way that she simply must not be safe anywhere.

A long silence stretches between the three of them and Miranda finds herself shifting from foot to foot. They know she isn't telling them everything, maybe even that she lied.

"We can only help if you tell us everything," Suncloud finally says, meeting her eyes steadily.

"Not much else to tell."

Suncloud looks to his father, who's all but staring Miranda down. She thinks they understand that they aren't going to get anything else from her today.

"When you are ready to speak of this more, tell Suncloud and we will attempt this conversation again."

She almost gapes at her luck, but at the last second remembers her manners and stammers out a thank you. Glenstorm takes his leave, leaving her alone with a curious Suncloud.

Uh oh! Suncloud's going to ask questions, isn't he?

sarahwood - I'm so glad you enjoyed it! It was really interesting to write, and I wasn't sure at first where I wanted to put that, but in hindsight I'm glad I put it where I did. I think you're right, it was definitely time to get a peek into Miranda's reasons for why she is the way she is. As for Caspian...well, stay tuned! ;)

Guest - Thanks! Hope to see you again next chapter :)

Review!