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"PLEASE," SHE begs, her voice turning hoarse with desperation. "You have to help me."
The light of the full moon reflects brilliantly in his eyes, turning them bright and sharp so they themselves look like two silver stars plucked from the sky. Were he not so gentle in appearance and with a voice like quiet, autumn wind, he would quite easily strike terror in the heart of any who look upon him. So when he meets her frantic gaze, she inhales a sharp, nervous gasp that, for the briefest of moments, fills her with terrible dread.
"Daughter," he says. "The magic you seek for such a task — if it not mean your end — may only be found in the curse-layer herself; she who fell beneath The Great Lion's mane."
She shakes her head furiously. "No spells come of a dead witch but those already cast. There must be a way, father. Tell me there is a way."
He leans on his staff, a frown deepening the lines of his face. His voice, ever soft as the dewy grass, dampens her fear. "There is no power in Archenland nor the lands surrounding capable of defeating such magic but for The Lion himself," he says smoothly. "However, I have realized there is one who has resisted such temptation. And, as I have come to realize as well, you see, if he were at one end of a similar string, may serve as a point to which your senses remain anchored."
The old man beckons her forward, to the pool of placid water at his feet. It's clear and calm and near level with the lawn of luscious green in which it rests, reflecting the patterns of the night sky like a mirror inlaid within the earth. She approaches him and the curious pool, peering over it to see herself in its stillness, the stars and the moon spread out behind her and her knotted red hair and her dusting of freckles and her eyes of umber and sage and the ripples–
A hand falls on my shoulder and my heart lurches, whirling around and wrenching my eyes open with a gasp.
Edmund stares back at me with a confused expression on his face. "Are you alright?"
Behind him, the stone walls of Aslan's How are cast with shadows from the flickering torches resting in their brackets. Banging metal and hooves and voices echo distantly through the tunnels. The air — thick and hot and tinged with smoke — fills my nose and my lungs and calms my racing pulse.
It was just a dream, I remind myself. A really, really weird dream...right?
"Ryn?"
I blink, refocusing on his dark eyes and the concern shining in them. "I'm fine."
He frowns, believing my words about as much as I do, but decides for the moment not to push for any sort of elaboration. Instead, he straightens and offers me a hand, pulling me to my feet. "Peter and Caspian are calling the meeting."
I nod, reaching for my sword belt to buckle it on. "Hopefully this one goes a little smoother."
