I apologize for the slight lateness in getting this one out, there were two days of lovely technical difficulties. (Don't we all love those?) Hope it wasn't too long!

Thank you, once more, to sarahwood for reviewing!

Chapter 13

"Shouldn't you be with the Pevensies?" she asks him. It's meant to be teasing, but the incredible toll of the past hour or two hours or however long it's been make the attempt come out flat.

Secretly, she's grateful for the small break, even though the thought makes her feel less than two inches tall and she swears to forget it.

"I wanted to make sure you were well," is his answer. Clearly, he remembers her troubled mood before the battle. And perhaps now he can see the exhaustion making her feet drag.

Miranda forces a nonchalant shrug. "I'm fine." Maybe she should thank him for the concern, but if she does he might stay and ask what was bothering her.

To her chagrin, he does that anyway.

"Nothing important," she tries to say, but he's shaking his head before she even finishes the first word.

"It was important, I think you simply don't wish to speak of it."

He's right, but she doesn't have to admit it aloud.

"Well, maybe it's personal," she fires back, smirking like it's a game when she knows it's really not.

"And perhaps you wish to speak of it in spite of that," he returns, raising an eyebrow at her attempt at lightening the situation. "I would not press you if I did not think it would help." He steps closer to her, leans in and speaks a little quieter like he doesn't want others to hear. "It's not like you to be so…dismissive."

"And it's not like you to pry." Miranda almost feels bad for being snappy, but she doesn't want to think about her impending death, not when there's already so much of it in front of her. Lucy's cordial can be too late, and has been too late for some. Though if she spins it right, she could dismiss this mood of hers as the mere stress of battle, or battle cleanup, or something that sounds equally as plausible.

"Miranda, what is it?" he asks, more urgently now. "I am worried about you."

Her tongue ties itself in knots at the blatant question that's getting increasingly harder to evade. For a moment, she wants to fire back that of the two of them, he's the one they should both be worried about, not her. But then again, on some level she knows that finally telling someone about it, a friend, might be a relief. But on most other levels, she feels that it's personal and it's private and no one really needs to know anyway.

"You've got to swear you won't repeat a word I say to anyone, got that?" Miranda adopts her sternest face as she prepares to finally give in to Caspian's incessant questioning. Maybe it's the tumult of battle that's changed his former stance on leaving her be. And she's just selfish enough to want the relief of trusting someone a little, little bit.

"You have my word."

Miranda nods once, the motion cropped by her lingering indecision. Should she really tell him, even though she kind of wants to? How much should she tell him? How much will he understand?

"Not here," she finally says, steering them away from the busy battlefield. She doesn't want anyone else to hear what she's about to say, because it's hard enough saying it aloud to just one person. And he's a friend.

Moreover, the toll from watching so many die is finally sinking in, and she doesn't know if she can keep going without taking a few minutes to at least attempt to compose herself. Already, the sights and sounds and smells of death are making her head light and fuzzy. Though by that token, speaking of her own limited supply of life isn't likely to improve the hazy, incoherent thoughts or the ache starting just at her hairline.

Caspian guides her to the edge of the forest, away from anyone's earshot, and sits down on a stump, waiting patiently for her to begin. It reminds her very much of those first nights they were getting to know each other, back when he was only just starting the war.

"You think the story is that long?"

"With you, it is best to be prepared for anything." A sparkle in his eye, dulled from the seriousness of the past few hours, tells her he's teasing her, but she shoves his shoulder lightly just because.

"I'm flattered, really." From there, there's really nothing else to do but start blurting out her secrets. So Miranda chooses one, and one only, and decides that this is the one she'll tell her friend Prince – King – Caspian.

"Remember when I was explaining how I got to Narnia?" At his nod, she takes a seat on a fallen log next to his stump and rests her elbows on her knees. "Well, I left out what came after. Sometimes, less frequently now, when I fall asleep here, I wake up back home. In a hospital," she finishes. There, that's one secret.

"Hos-pi-dal?" Caspian stumbles a bit over the unfamiliar word, and it makes Miranda smile a little. If she didn't know better, she'd say he's cute when he's trying to sound out a new word.

"Sick house," she explains. "They send you there if you're sick enough."

"Are you there because of the accident?"

Miranda nods and purposely avoids his gaze that's getting heavier and heavier by the second.

"Yeah, it was a little worse than I let on. Well, in my defense, I didn't really know how bad it was back then."

Caspian waits, and she can feel him staring at her in confusion. Apparently, she still isn't making a whole lot of sense.

"I'm in there because…because…" God, she can't bring herself to say the word 'dying' out loud, because then it really will be real and for now she can at least pretend, on some level, that it's not because she's the only one here, aside from Aslan of course, who knows about it.

"Because?" Caspian prods gently, his hand moving toward hers just a fraction. But just as soon as she notices it, he withdraws it back to where it was, leaving her questioning if she imagined the small motion.

"Because I'm not doing well and if I get worse…I might not be around much longer." There. Not exactly the full truth, but part of it. It's better than nothing.

Caspian seems to be at a loss for words; he looks from the ground to Miranda and back again, face surprisingly blank. But when he finally looks up and meets her eyes, she sees that he's not blank at all – his eyes are storming, raging with so many things that he's about to say. In the end though, only one thing comes out - disbelief.

"What are you saying?" Caspian says lowly, now staring into her eyes full-on, so intensely that she can't breathe and can't look away.

Miranda swallows the guilt at not telling him the whole truth and repeats what she said. "If I get much worse, I might not be around for very long."

She doesn't mean to say anything else, but more words keep tumbling out anyway.

"And as I was helping Lucy, that kept creeping into my mind. It's…I think it's scaring me."

Caspian stays silent for long moments, his gaze never wavering. Miranda starts to feel uncomfortable, but she hides it because she can understand just from looking at his eyes that this is hard for him, especially after the tumultuous events of today. He's trying to grasp it, and she's trying to understand why he's so affected by her possible departure. Surely he can't care about her that much in so little time.

"I hope you stay around for a long time, but if you do not, promise me you will at least say goodbye, if you can."

Miranda isn't sure if she can promise that, but she does anyway. Caspian has been through enough for one day; there's no need to make it any worse for him.

"Alright, I promise. But I might not know beforehand." She warns him in part because she knows it's true, but also because she doesn't entirely trust herself to uphold her end of the bargain and she needs the loophole.

"I only ask that you try, and if you cannot, I won't fault you for that."

It almost sounds like he's assuring her, almost as if he knows exactly what is going through her head and is telling her up front that it's okay if she can't bring herself to do it, to break the news when she knows it's time to do so. Or maybe she's just imagining it to make herself feel better.

She nods and tells him she'll do her best. "But it may not even happen," she adds. This is a blatant lie, but he doesn't need to know that. Better to give him a bit of hope now so the news doesn't completely ruin the day he won back his rightful throne.

'At the very least, I didn't tell him on his coronation day,' Miranda muses. That would, by comparison, have been much worse.

Caspian takes the bait; he brightens visibly at the kernel of hope she offers him and seizes on it.

"Of course. Forgive me, I've learned to be cautious."

"With good reason," Miranda reassures him and surprises them both by leaning over and taking one of his hands in both of hers. "I'll do my best if the time comes, if you promise you won't worry incessantly, alright?"

Caspian looks down at their hands and back up at her.

"Agreed." As if to seal this proposition, he lays his other hand on top of hers, sending goose-bumps up her arms that she doesn't entirely understand.

It must be that he's just warm to the touch.

Yes, that must be it. He's just warm, that's all, and her hands are cold from brushing with death so much lately.

Quickly, it hits Miranda exactly the situation she's found herself in: hand in hand with a prince – with a man stronger than her, who could probably crush her hands into splinters if he so chose.

And he's choosing the opposite. Caspian holds her hands like they are precious, delicate things, softly but with just enough strength for her hands to feel warm and cocooned. Does he even realize he's doing this, or is it instinct? Surely not the latter; he's a prince who trained in weaponry from the time he was old enough to play with sticks. So he's choosing to be so gentle with her. Why?

Miranda decides quickly that she isn't ready to look into that question, and focuses instead on not overthinking this because when she stops thinking so much, it's actually quite nice, sitting here on the edge of the forest with a prince's hands wrapped with hers. It feels comforting and…oddly…safe.

On an impulse, she decides to ask him what's been eating at him for so long. He's been just a little off since the raid, and he's kept mum on whatever it is. Just like she kept mum on her little predicament; maybe he might want to talk about his?

Miranda decides to ask him, both out of curiosity and actual concern.

"You've been out of sorts too, you know. Ever since the raid." She starts as gently as she can, but she's afraid it's not gently enough.

Caspian tenses immediately, his hands going rigid in her grip. She loosens her hold to let him pull away if he wants to, but he doesn't. Oddly, he sighs and then relaxes.

"I have not spoken of it, save to my Professor," he admits quietly, the breeze almost blowing way his words.

"Do you want to talk about it now?" Miranda asks, closing her grip again.

Caspian hesitates, his gaze returning to the ground below.

At length, he nods, almost imperceptibly.

"What happened?" she asks him, prodding gently because that's what he had to do for her.

"Miraz killed my father."

Miranda's surprised he was able to just blurt it out. She couldn't have, not something like that.

"Your uncle?"

Caspian's silence confirms what she thought. His uncle killed his own brother…

"Where is Miraz now?"

"Dead." Caspian's voice is flat and hard, so unlike what she's used to hearing from him.

Against her better judgment, Miranda squeezes his hand.

"I'm sorry. About your father," she clarifies.

"I let him go, Miranda," Caspian suddenly bites out, his lips curling back in pain. "I could have avenged my father and I didn't. I let him go."

Miranda's a bit confused now. Let who go? Miraz? When?

Caspian looks up and must see that she's not following what he's saying.

"After the duel, Peter had won and would have killed Miraz. But he didn't, he held the sword out to me."

"A kind gesture," Miranda fills in as Caspian struggles for his next words.

"I took it, and I was so sure I would do it," he says.

"And you didn't," Miranda finishes, suddenly understanding all the little puzzle pieces he's been telling her. "That's what you meant when you said you let him go."

Caspian nods, the pained lines etched into his face growing with each passing second.

"That was the noble thing to do, Caspian." Miranda squeezes his hands again, wishing she could comfort him more. "I'm not sure if I could have done that."

"I didn't want to," Caspian admits freely. "I wanted to avenge my father."

Gently, Miranda says, "But Miraz is dead now no matter; is that not vengeance?"

"Not by my hand," he grinds out.

Miranda's a bit surprised to see this anger from him after having spent a fair amount of time speaking with Aslan. Aslan's very presence calmed her.

Or perhaps he was perfectly fine with Aslan, but out of his immediate presence Caspian is still struggling with his father's untimely death and a need to make Miraz pay for that. Maybe this is the first time he's had to process this, really process it, since the battle only just ended hours ago. Miranda doesn't want to think that she could have caused this darkened mood, but she decides quickly that she couldn't have. This is about his family and now that he is Narnia's new king, of course he'd be thinking about his father.

Because she doesn't know what to say, exactly, Miranda stays quiet and just holds his hands. The same hands he wishes had ended Miraz.

"He was betrayed by one of his own. I suppose that was fitting." Caspian is clearly trying his best to find a silver lining.

"Maybe that's better than knowing Miraz is still alive and gloating?" Miranda suggests, wishing she knew better how she should help him, what she should say.

Caspian doesn't speak against this, but he still seems less than satisfied. Understandably so, and Miranda tells him this.

"It's alright to be angry about it," she says. "You don't have to feel guilty for that."

At this, Caspian snaps his head up and meets her gaze more intensely than he has yet.

"How did you know that?" he asks, perplexed and almost defensive. "I never said I felt guilty."

"We're very different, but that's one thing we sometimes have in common," Miranda explains. "I've blamed myself for things I couldn't have controlled plenty of times, trust me."

"I do."

He trusts her?

Well of course he does; he talks to her, tells her when something is bothering him, and Miranda knows he is not one to speak of his troubles normally. Maybe he does so because he's seen so many of her troubles practically laid bare before him, even if it was entirely on accident.

It occurs to her that maybe she should say that she trusts him too, but the words feel false before she even moves to form them. She only minutes ago told him half-truths instead of whole truths and there is still so much she hasn't trusted him with. No, she can't say she trusts him, not really. Not yet, at least. But she's getting there.

So instead of saying anything else that isn't completely true, Miranda just smiles a little and squeezes his hand for possibly the hundredth time in the hour. Is he getting tired of that?

Miranda wonders, but he never hints at it, never tries to pull his hands away from hers, never suggests that they return to the others. Almost absentmindedly, his thumb strokes across her knuckles in a manner that would be soothing if she'd let it be.

But as nice as all this is, Miranda is starting to wonder about Lucy and how many more wounded there are out there on the battlefield who could be seconds away from death.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I think it's time I got back to helping Lucy," Miranda says at length, though she doesn't move to extricate her hands. Why that is, she can't be sure.

Caspian acknowledges this gracefully, finally releasing her hands and standing from his stump. She's grateful for this, so why do her hands feel unpleasantly cold when he withdraws his?

After he's gotten to his feet, Caspian offers her his hand as she moves to stand from her log. She takes it without a second thought and wonders at how nice it feels just to have that little contact back.

How strange; she usually hates physical contact, and here she's been for the better part of an hour, just holding hands with a prince like it's absolutely nothing.

Strange indeed.

Miranda doesn't notice that Caspian hasn't let go until they reach the bloody aftermath and Lucy runs past them, cordial still in hand. Relief floods Miranda when she sees Susan is now helping the young queen. Guilt still pricks at her for leaving Lucy here on her own, but it's lessened by the presence of the older queen.

"I think they could use my help again," Miranda says at last, only just then realizing that Caspian still has yet to release her fingers from his.

"Are you certain?" he asks her.

She remembers how she reacted at the Telmarine soldier's death at the makeshift archery range mere days ago and cringes.

"I'm sure," she tells him firmly. "They're much worse off than I am."

Caspian stares then, and her tongue almost ties itself in knots. That's right, she's dying too. And she just told him that.

"At least I'm not laying on a field," she whispers to him after making sure no one is even close to earshot.

His brows furrowed, Caspian looks as though he might question her yet again, but he surprises her; rather than asking again, he simply gives her hand one last squeeze and leaves her be. She doesn't ask where he's going, and he doesn't look back. For a moment, it's as if their conversation never happened.

Miranda doesn't mind, but in a small, ever so small and tiny way, she does.

But the alternative is feeling like the conversation did happen and that her impending demise is even more real than before, so Miranda puts it from her mind and hurries to the closest breathing body she sees.

The cleanup lasts the better part of the day, leaving everyone including Miranda exhausted. Somehow, the Kings and Queens managed to organize everyone quickly enough that the entire mass of them, Narnians and defeated Telmarines alike, can sit and share the evening meal. Well, that's the idea; many of the Telmarines are so unnerved by the Narnians' presence that they huddle in groups amongst themselves, refusing to mingle. No one is particularly surprised by this turn of events, but it casts a cloud on Caspian in particular. Miranda hasn't heard from him directly since their little chat in the afternoon, but it makes perfect sense to her. Of course Caspian is disappointed; it's his job from now on to try and forge a peace between the two groups. Miranda doesn't envy his position one whit.

For the meal, she finds herself in the company of the Kings and Queens and Aslan himself. With Suncloud sitting beside her, it's almost…cozy. Warm. Homely.

Homely?!

Miranda shoves that thought from her mind and puts her energy into following the conversation, though there isn't all that much of it to be had. Peter, Caspian, and Edmund are trying to hash out the beginnings of the new Narnia with its new king, but not much else is said. Lucy, of course, is cuddled up to Aslan, her head resting on the Lion's great golden shoulder, and she seems content to remain quiet. Susan, too, doesn't say much, and Glenstorm is naturally taciturn. Reepicheep's lack of remarks is the most surprising. Miranda can only chalk it up to his awe in the presence of the Great Lion and perhaps distraction at his new tail. He has, after all, been staring at it for the better part of an hour now.

"Are we staying here for a few days?" Miranda finally asks Susan as quietly as she can, to keep from disturbing the others' conversations.

Susan shakes her head. "Caspian needs to be crowned as soon as possible. Half of the Narnians will stay here and collect the Telmarines, and the other half will come with us."

"The Telmarines won't try anything?"

"Not after Aslan and the river god scared them nearly to death."

"And which half am I with?" Miranda asks, nervous of the answer.

"With us, of course." Susan replies as if it's the simplest thing on earth, but Miranda's still a bit surprised. It was a much…warmer answer than she'd expected, even with the friendships she'd formed with the royals over the past week or so.

"We leave at first light," Lucy fills in, no doubt having noted her confusion.

Miranda nods and returns to her food, having nothing else to say.

Miranda wakes with a start in the dead of night, heart pounding and sweat beading on her brow.

She's unsurprised that this is yet another night she won't be sleeping through, but she also isn't used this particular method of nightly vigils. When she fell asleep just fine, she thought that maybe tonight she'd sleep soundly.

"Silly me," she mumbles to herself as she sits up and curls into the tightest ball as she can manage.

At first she thinks to just sit there like so, but soon enough the snores and sighs of the other sleepers around her have a muscle in her arm twitching and cold sweat beading in her palms. It feels like the sleeping sounds are hiding something in the dark, even though she knows it's only Narnians and Telmarines around here. Well, that's not altogether reassuring; Telmarines were not, exactly, known for their magnanimity.

So Miranda gets to her feet and plods toward the river bank, the pebbly ground rough without her shoes. Maybe dipping her toes in the river will relax her enough that she can get back to sleep for a few hours before the long trip to the castle.

Her mind still foggy and nervous, Miranda sits down at the edge of the river and slips her feet into the rushing water. The river rushing over the stones quiets her thoughts, just as she'd hoped it would.

"What troubles you, Daughter of Eve?"

Somehow, the Lion's sudden appearance beside her isn't frightening; if anything, it's a relief.

"I don't know," she answers honestly. "I just couldn't go back to sleep."

Aslan comes and lays down beside her, his two great front paws just dipping into the river.

"It will happen at the right time," the Lion murmurs to her, the warmth radiating from his hide almost making her drowsy again.

"I'm not so worried about that," she admits. "I just wish I knew if it would be sooner or later."

Aslan stays quiet beside her, his golden eyes drawing her own to his face.

"Will it be soon, Aslan? Is it to be soon, do you think?" Miranda finds herself whispering, half-hoping the river will wash away her words.

"I call all times soon," Aslan replies, the warmth from his breath brushing the top of her head and giving her goosebumps as it competes with the cool water on her toes.

Miranda isn't altogether surprised, nor is she disappointed. That last bit is unlike her, but all in all she feels just a bit better about her limited days than she did when she first woke. It must be Aslan that's soothing her; Miranda is fairly certain that feeling alright about one's death is not entirely normal.

"What about my family?" she asks. "Will they be alright? And Leila?"

"They will miss you as much as you will miss them." The Lion's voice is heavy and sad, like he knows exactly what she's feeling and exactly what she will feel when that time comes.

Miranda tries not to think about that any more, but it keeps bothering her, and not even the river and not even Aslan can soothe it away. How can she prepare them for her demise? How can she prepare herself, for that matter?

"What's it like?" Another question pops out of Miranda's mouth, and of all the questions she's asked tonight, this is the one she truly wishes she had kept quiet.

"Death is simply another way of sleeping, Miranda." Aslan still sounds sad, but not as much with this answer. Perhaps death won't be so bad. Perhaps it's just the idea of it that's the terrible part.

"I think I have stage fright of death," Miranda declares all of a sudden, wiggling her toes deeper into the water until it licks at the hem of her dress.

Aslan looks at her again, this time with a look akin to amusement.

"Waiting in the wings is the worst part, but once I get there, maybe it won't be so bad after all."

A low chuckle sounds from beside her, a warm and befuddled sound.

"Aslan?" Miranda speaks up again. The Lion's gaze beckons her on. "Is there any special way I should go about saying goodbye here? If there's time, I mean."

Now Aslan looks sorry again, and this time it unnerves her that he's looking at her like he knows something she doesn't, something that if she knew it too would be awful and sad.

"Aslan?" Miranda tries. She receives only the same look. "Aslan, what aren't you telling me?"

In answer, Aslan opens his great mouth and breathes on her, and the heat of it pushes away her apprehension.

"Go and rest, Miranda. It will be a long journey tomorrow."

Miranda thinks about protesting, but she's warm and sleepy now, and wouldn't it be a waste to stay up out of stubbornness?

Aslan stands with a gentle smile tilting up his whiskers and helps her to her feet.

"Come," he says, and allows her to put her hand in his mane for support as the pebbles make her unsteady.

Miranda does. They arrive back at her little designated spot, marked only by the indentation her body made in the ground, and Aslan sits as she obediently lays herself down.

"If you wish to return to your home tonight, I will make it so."

"Thank you, Aslan. I think a visit home would do some good." The suggestion helps a bit with her apprehension.

Aslan dips his maned head and lays a paw on her shoulder. Instantly, Miranda feels herself falling quickly toward sleep, her family still fixed firmly in her mind.

The same beeping as usual stirs her awake in a bed that feels unbelievably comfortable after sleeping on the ground for so many nights.

"Miranda? Oh my god, Miranda?!"

"Yep, it's me," Miranda tries to say, but she quickly finds that her tongue is dry and sticks to the roof of her mouth. Only a scratchy, warbled sound comes out.

Her eyes don't want to open either; the lids feel glued together. But with a bit of effort, they slide open and Miranda can finally see a blurry image of her friend crying and grabbing her forearms. Miranda winces as one of the tubes in her arm gets jostled and Leila immediately springs back apologizing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, it's just…you're…you've been asleep for…" And Leila can say no more before she breaks down into a sobbing mess, her head in her hands as she slumps at Miranda's bedside.

Miranda stares down, at a complete loss what to do.

She raises one hand, or tries to, and finds that it's hard to move. At length, she manages to set her hand on Leila's shaking shoulder.

"It's alright," Miranda finally manages to say. "I'm alright, it's alright."

Leila's shaking her head before Miranda even finishes.

"But you're not!" she sobs, and Miranda has no idea what to say to that, especially when she knows its true. "You're not and you've been asleep for almost three weeks and I didn't know…we weren't sure…"

Leila trails off, burying her head in her friend's arm and hiccupping with the force of the tears.

Miranda stays still and rests her free hand on Leila's shoulder, patting occasionally in an effort to soothe her. She's not sure if it's working at all.

At length, Leila's tears seem to run their course, leaving the room silent but for the steady beep-beep of the heart monitor and the hiccups that always follow a good hard cry. Still unsure and heart-sore, Miranda waits for her friend to give her some sign that she's composed. None comes at first, and the rhythm in the room is broken by the blood pressure cuff swelling around Miranda's arm. Miranda winces; the cuff is pinching some of her skin, and she forgot how tight they get.

Leila finally looks up, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed as she regards her bed-ridden friend.

"How do you feel?" she asks quietly, catching Miranda almost completely off-guard.

"Sore," Miranda says, her voice still raspy. "Tired," she adds.

Leila sniffles.

"Alright," Miranda finishes, hoping this will somehow ease Leila's hysterics.

Her friend's bottom lip trembles and her chin quivers, but she doesn't break down again.

"I should…I mean, do you want…I should get your parents. They just stepped out for lunch," Leila stammers, standing up on knees that Miranda can see are shaking.

"I'll be here." The joke comes out flat and almost pained, because Miranda knows as soon as she says it that there will always, from now on, be the chance that she won't be here the next time.

Leila understands this too, and Miranda inwardly curses her words when a fat tear spills down her friend's face. Leila smiles to try and cover the effect, but Miranda thinks both of them can tell it's useless. On that unhappy note, Leila leaves to find Miranda's parents.

The only thing Miranda can think about is how on earth she's going to say goodbye to them.

Her gloomy thoughts only intensify when the door opens and her parents rush in with tear trails on their faces. Her mother rushes forward with open arms and mascara running down her cheeks, but her father stops short and just stands in the doorway.

Miranda is no sooner regarding her father with teary eyes than she's engulfed by her mother's arms and the fervent kisses being pressed to her brow distract her from the rest of the room.

"Hi Mom," she chokes out through the lump in her throat.

Her mother doesn't answer; she just clings even tighter, until Miranda has to bite back a grimace because the tubes in her arms are getting jostled again.

"How-" her dad has to stop to clear his throat before continuing, "How are you feeling, kiddo?"

"I'm alright, Dad," Miranda murmurs over her mother's shoulder. "I'm alright."

Her father takes this better than Leila did; he nods and seems relieved. She supposes it's better than hearing that she's in pain or scared or confused.

For the better part of what Miranda guesses to be an hour, she tries to soothe Leila and her mother while her father does his best to help her do so. The effort exhausts her before too long, but Miranda fights to keep her eyes open because an hour or so is absolutely not long enough, not when the next time she wakes up could be the last time she sees them.

But the time comes, far too soon, when Miranda simply can't stay awake any longer. And so she tells her parents and Leila goodbye for now, making sure she emphasizes that she loves them and wants them to take care of themselves. She only just hears their promises before slipping away.

No break for her, poor thing...

sarahwood - That it does! I was excited to get past that because it was a real pain to write. (Battles are not my strongest suit...) Aslan was definitely a comfort to Miranda, though she still has questions for sure. Seeing if and how Miranda integrates is going to be interesting, I think. We've got a long way to the end of the story so plenty of time to explore that!

Review!