The Heir of Aslan || Narnia

Chapter 11- The Sound of Blood Drips

Are we the hunters?
Or are we the prey?
This is a wild game of survival
- Game of Survival, Ruelle

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𝙹𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚂 Pevensie was good at games. Specifically, he was good at card games. Name it: solitaire, poker, snap, Irish snap, switch, hearts, beggar-my-neighbour, even pig. James was good at them all. However, he had come to the realisation that being good at games would not help him in all aspects of life. It did, instead, equip him with an independence and competitiveness that he had pride in.

     This independence had passed to all of the Pevensie's, however, the girls more than most. They had always been different to the rest, and James had admired them for it. Their want and need to be the best in their field was inspiring, even if unconventional. He only wished that the rest of the world thought the same.

     It was this sense of independence the Pevensie boys admired which made them content to leave their sisters alone. That was a decision they would soon come to regret.

     James had wandered off once his conversation with Aslan had ended. There was no need for him to stay, and no need to be in the way of others. Clearly, there was more to be said between the lion and his brother: James would never prevent it.

     The blonde had walked through a field of long grass, ending up not too far from the forests edge where the camp was. His hand grasped his axe, it still feeling light in his hands as Father Christmas said it would. It was peaceful, a nice sort of peaceful: a good sort of peaceful. Birds were chirping as if they were making conversation. James smiled- who wouldn't?

     Then, the peace broke. It snapped like a branch under pressure.

     A horn sounded.

     He had never heard it before, but James could guess what it was.

     Susan's horn.

     As quickly as he could, James changes direction, and sprinted towards the noise. His weapon stayed firmly in his hand. He could get there. He could help.

     Suddenly, a pain shot up his leg. He fell to the mud, hard. Growls filled the air, tension so thick, it felt impossible to move. James' dark eyes caught a quick glimpse of what caused the pain. He yelped.

     They were back.

     The wolves were back.

     How they had navigated their way back from the ice incident, James didn't know. It didn't matter, anyway. They were back, and the eldest Pevensie didn't know what to do.

     Only half of the pack from earlier had surrounded him, which meant however many were left were with Susan, and most likely, Lucy. James could only hope that Peter would be able to help them. His sister's weren't damsels in distress, but everyone needed a hand sometimes. He was certainly aware that he did now. This battle was going to be a hard fought one to win.

     James shook his leg. The pain escalated, almost to breaking point, as the creature's fangs pressed deeper into his flesh. A cry escaped his lips: eventually the wolf let go. He scrambled to his feet, pushing away the ache that appeared immediately. He could stand properly.