Chapter Three: Kept Waiting

When Moonshadow reached the Fox's den, there was no sign of anyone about. Frowning, he stamped a great hoof on the ground in imperious summons.

Almost instantly, a sleek vixen appeared at the entrance, bowing over her paws when she saw what it was that stood before her. "Welcome, m'lord."

"Is this the den of the 'healer' Rawlstow?" Moonshadow questioned without bothering to return the greeting.

"Aye, m'lord; I'm his mate, Vroxa."

"I wish to speak with him," Moonshadow said with clear command in his tone.

Vroxa bowed again. "He's not here, m'lord; a skunk came to get him for a poisoned kit."

Moonshadow's frown deepened. "I met that skunk on the way; did he not mention that I was coming?"

Vroxa shrugged with the flick of an ear. "I wouldn't know, m'lord. Yer welcome t'wait for him, of course; is there anything I c'n get you?"

"No," the centaur replied shortly. Crossing his arms over his chest, he instantly became as still as if he had been turned to stone.

Vroxa hesitated, then backed slowly away, retreating into the den to return to whatever she had been about when he arrived.

Over the course of the afternoon, she glanced nervously at him whenever her business took her outside, bowing quickly over her paws as she passed. But over time, her bows became more and more rote, as she increasingly began to regard him as the statue he so resembled.

Only the twitching of his tail gave away his seething impatience as he wondered what could possibly be taking the Fox so long. He supposed he had had to go in order to appease the skunk; that Moonshadow had not met them on the way was no surprise, as they had likely taken paths through the underbrush that would not admit a centaur. But it would have taken only an emetic and an antidote; perhaps a painkiller if the kit was conscious enough to be uncomfortable. After that, it would be in Aslan's paws, and as the continued presence of the healer could make no difference, he should have hurried back at once to see what a centaur wanted of him. For surely a centaur's presence was the greatest honour his humble den would ever boast!

oOo

At long last, Rawlstow came loping into the clearing on weary paws, dropping a bow to the centaur even as his mate came out to meet him.

"How's Sassy?" she asked of the kit he had been tending.

"He'll be all right now, thanks be to the Lion," the fox healer replied.

"Then you should have returned at once, as you knew I was waiting to speak with you."

Rawlstow turned and gazed at him, incredulous that a centaur healer should appear to care so little for the welfare of a patient. Had he sensed camaraderie with another healer, he might have mentioned that aside from his presence simply being a comfort to the kit's parents Balsam and Honeysuckle, he had saved little Sassafras's life several times over the course of the afternoon. Even had Balsam thought to mention the centaur's presence before Rawlstow was leaving anyway, the healer would not have deserted his patient.

But it would have been useless to point this out to the centaur, and he merely bowed once more. "M'apologies fer the wait."

Moonshadow snorted, only slightly mollified.

"What can I do fer y', m'lord?" Rawlstow prompted.

"Is it true you have one of the great Books of Healing?"

"Aye, m'lord. Did y'wish t'consult it?"

Moonshadow blinked, too startled by the idea of seeking advice from a Fox even to take offense at it. "Had I need of the Book's counsel, I would have sought it in the Halls of Healing," he explained loftily.

"Of course, m'lord," Rawlstow said in a puzzled tone.

"Where did you come by the Book?" Moonshadow questioned.

"It was a gift, m'lord, from Father Christmas."

"And where did a Fox learn the healing arts to deem himself worthy to use and even to write in such an honoured Book?"

"I knew simple cures from m'grandmother, an' the rest I learned from the Book itself."

Moonshadow blinked, the idea that the Book was detailed enough to serve as a manual of healing for one who knew next to nothing of the art never having occurred to him, and he didn't accept it now. Healing was an art to be learned at an older healer's side, and the book to be referenced only in greatest extremities.

"You are not a true healer," he declared, "and as such have no right to a Book that is the ancestral property of the centaurs. Go bring it to me at once, that I may return it to its rightful owners."

To his surprise, the Fox dared to bare his teeth in a snarl and actually crouch, growling at the centaur. "It was given t'me b'Father Christmas," he repeated, his Vulpine accent made stronger by his displeasure so that Moonshadow took a moment to puzzle out what he had said. Once again, he wondered why, when Aslan granted the Beasts Speech, he had not also given them the ability to speak pure, understandable Narnian.

"It was not his to give," he insisted.

The Fox's ears shot up in an expression of shock. "Are y'callin' Father Christmas a thief?" he demanded in disbelief.

"Of course not!" Moonshadow denied, recognizing that perhaps he had gone too far. "I expect he found one of the lost copies, and did not realize that of course it should be returned to the centaurs at once."

Rawlstow growled softly once again, his respect for Father Christmas too high to be willing to accept even this lesser accusation.

"Go t'Cair Paravel," he suggested. "Ask King Edmund t'rule on who the Book belongs t'; I'll abide b'his decision."

Moonshadow wondered at the sudden sly glint in the Fox's eye, but nodded stiffly, seeing no reason not to agree. "Very well," he acknowledged. "But when I return, if you claim that Book is nowhere to be found —"

Rawlstow barked sharply. "If y'wish t'accuse me of treachery an' deceit, bring King Edmund back w'y' an' let him judge between us. Ye'll find the Book here when y'return, as Aslan is m'witness! But b'sure y'do not claim the king's decision t'b'what it was not."

"I shall have no need of false dealing," Moonshadow insisted loftily, "even if being a centaur were not enough reason alone for you to trust my word."

Rawlstow growled again, obviously fighting his beast's nature in a desire to attack the one who had implied his own word was less to be trusted.

Not trusting that bestial urge and having no desire to be bitten by an angered Fox and perhaps his mate as well, Moonshadow turned to begin the trek to Cair Paravel.

Of course, King Edmund would rule in favour of the centaurs, he consoled himself. After all, the Fox had just proved even the power of Speech did not make him much more than a brute beast, while the centaurs, if there had been no Sons of Adam, surely would have been kings of Narnia themselves.

Next chapter coming next week!

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