❝ there was a difference between living and existing, and for the first time, phoebe felt like she was living. and wasn't that a marvellous thing?❞
[book 1]
in which a boy calls a girl irrelevant, but somehow manages to fall in love with her anyway...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✳︎
It was all well and good to talk about the battle, but now that they were here, standing at Beruna, Phoebe didn't think she'd ever been more nervous in her life. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she could practically hear it - surprisingly, though, her brain was calm. She suspected she was running on adrenaline alone. It was almost eerie, the silence around her. It was as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see the Witch's army appear.
Phoebe was bouncing on the balls of her feet, while Peter was to her left on his horse (well, unicorn really, but it sounded almost ridiculous to say it). She could see Oreius lifting his feet up and down, practically pacing on the spot. No one dared to talk. It was so tense that Phoebe was tempted to scream, just to break the silence. She'd had to argue her way to the front line, bargaining with one of the fauns so that she could stand next to Peter, and now they weren't even doing anything.
"Oreius, I thought the scouts said the Witch was on the horizon." Peter sounded worried and afraid. Phoebe knew why. They still had no idea how many troops the Witch was bringing. They could be ridiculously outnumbered, and they wouldn't have a clue. Just then, a large shadow swept over them, and Phoebe practically broke her neck hurrying to look up. A griffin had flown over them, slowing to descend next to Peter.
"Sire, they come," The griffin sounded out of breath, as though he'd flown as fast as he could, "Their numbers are far greater than our own, as are their weapons." Even through all of his armour, Phoebe could tell Peter was afraid. His eyes flashed across the plains, searching for any signs of the Witch or her army. There was nothing but grass, swaying in the wind, dotted with clumps of grey rocks. IT was surprisingly peaceful. Behind them, a sheer cliff rose, and that was where Edmund stood with their archers at his back. Phoebe had to say, Peter and Oreius had come up with a decent strategy.
"Son of Adam, numbers don't win a battle." Oreius had clearly noticed Peter's nerves as well, but Phoebe doubted the effectiveness of his attempt at calming the boy down, especially given the fact that Oreius seemed just as worried. Peter practically scoffed.
"Bet they help." He muttered under his breath, and Phoebe laughed a little. Before she could relax any more, however, the sound of drums wafted over to them. It was like a whisper, spreading through the troops as the sounds of battle reached them. Any whispered conversations fell silent, and everyone seemed to stand up straighter. Once again, it was eerie. A tense silence, broken only by the beating of the Witch's drums. Then they saw her. The White Witch. The one who had started all of this.
She was being pulled in a chariot (or maybe it was a sleigh? That did seem to be her preferred method of transport). The Witch sat right at the head of her forces, and it was in that moment that Phoebe realised the Gryphon hadn't been exaggerating. The Witch's army seemed to stretch infinitely into the distance, and Phoebe felt her stomach drop. She and Peter were only fifteen - how'd they end up here? She was silently thankful that Lucy wasn't here, because she knew Peter would be far more anxious if she was. Phoebe half wished Susan could be there with her, because she'd become quite formidable with a bow and arrow.
