"An appreciative listener is always stimulating." ~ Agatha Christie

Author's Note: Hi. Yes, I'm new to this challenge; yes, I'm joining it right in the middle, and yes, I went about this one very lazily. To be truthful, I've convinced myself I've lost my ability to write, and I randomly decided to jump into the middle of this and take on today's challenge to get some well-needed practice. If any wish to give reviews, I accept both encouraging feedback or a painful picking apart to show me where I can improve. Thanks!


The last crumbs of the sugary cake had disappeared, and Mr. Tumnus tried to hide his nervousness as he sat down in his fireside chair opposite his young guest. He had to keep her longer; long enough to fall asleep so he could report her. It seemed a shame to do so, though. He had never met a human before, and this Daughter of Eve was so trusting and polite. Perhaps, after this whole ordeal was over, he would write of his encounter with an Actual Human. He had few books available on the subject that went beyond the common mythologies.

"Now, Daughter of Eve," he began, hoping a story would be just as captivating for her as it was for most Narnians, "I'll wager you've never heard about what it's like to live in a Narnian wood." He had been worried that conversing with such a significant stranger as a human would be difficult, but he was a lonely faun, and the eager eyes of his guest seemed to make the stories pour off of his tongue as if they had been bottled up as long as the springtime. She clearly hadn't been in Narnia long; she was interested in everything he had to say, and he wished her to know that Narnia used to be more than a frozen prison of winter.

He told her of the days of old, which he could barely seem to remember now. Days filled with a beauty that wasn't nearly so cold and harsh as what was found about now. Of the nymphs and dryads that would dance with the fauns at midnight, and of merry hunting parties in search of the white stag. "For if you caught him," Mr. Tumnus explained, "he'd grant you a wish."

"Truly?" The girl's eyes were so alive with curiosity that Mr. Tumnus found it endearing. "Oh, I'd like to believe that! Susan would say that wishes were something made up for the storybooks."

"Oh, of course not," he smiled, wondering briefly who this 'Soozan' was. "Wishes are as real as you or I. My good father would swear by it."

The daughter of Eve looked wistful for a moment. "If I caught the stag," she murmured, "I'd ask for an end to the war."

Mr. Tumnus was caught off guard by that. A person as young as his guest shouldn't know about wars. "Yes," he stammered, trying to shove down his rising guilt, "a fine thing to wish for." Why, this girl was so… so innocent. The thought nagged him as he tried to speak of other things. Of dwarven feasts and woodland sprites and the marvelous summers when rivers ran with wine, with the Daughter of Eve listening intently throughout. The more Mr. Tumnus spoke, the more he found he missed those glorious summers. "Not that it isn't always winter now," he finished gloomily. He wished there never had been an eternal winter; no White Witch.

The thought of the White Witch reminded him of the situation he was in now. The poor daughter of Eve was such a lovely, polite creature, and such an eager listener too. To have to hand her over after this seemed unbearable. He could hardly meet her eyes now; he was certain she would perceive what he intended to do. It was too late to go back now, he supposed, but he wished that he had never found her in the forest. She was so sweet and meant no harm- he could tell, even if he had only met her long enough to have tea with her.

Poor daughter of Eve, he thought, his heart wringing itself within his breast as he reluctantly reached for his pan flute. Who knows what that witch could ever want with an innocent creature like you.