The Fox & The Crow

Chapter Eight

"Please, I don't need you constantly in my dreams speaking her name."

The fox avoids my gaze.

"Please, understand," I beg the creature. "I can't live like this anymore."

It glowers at me, yellow eyes brimming with pain and hatred.

"Violet," It snaps.

"Be quiet," I order the fox. "You're just my imagination. I've smothered these thoughts up and I'll do the same to you."

"Violet," It growls, fur standing on end as I step closer.

"No," I shake my head.

"Violet," It repeats, baring its teeth.

"BE QUIET!" I grab onto its snout and try to force its mouth closed. It repeats her name over and over as I wrestle against it. Screaming against my grip, it manages to lash out, snapping its jaws into my arm as I struggle.

I scream and fall back, cupping my bleeding arm. Now I am the one who cringes as the fox saunters over to me. It pants and glares before turning and slipping into the blue forest surrounding the cherry tree. But as it goes, I still hear her name repeated on the fox's tongue over and over as the cold begins to slip from my senses.

"Violet."

My eyes flutter open and I squint at the piercing brightness of the white snow. I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding and get my bearings as I'm reminded that we are still trekking through the wardrobe's forest. I shiver and huddle onto my side, exhausted still and curious why of all the forests, the one in our wardrobe had to be frozen over.

As I warm myself, I become increasingly aware of a dull pain near my wrist, which is odd since I haven't needed to wear any bandages for a few days after leaving the hospital. I peek down at my arm and am suddenly alarmed at the odd blue marks that have formed there in my sleep.

I sit straight up and pull my sleeve down, holding my arm up to the dim morning sun. Faded blue bite marks almost shimmer under my skin, so faint they could be mistaken for a trick of the light. Still, I hold my arm close to my side and peer around our campsite, double-checking that everyone is still asleep.

When I am sure that I'm the only one awake, I collapse back into my little makeshift bed. I remember the fox from my dream, the way it bit me. But there's no way that could've caused this. No. It's not possible. But I still stare at my arm, watching as the marks fade until I am not even sure if they existed at all.

I'm still thinking of them when everyone wakes. And still when we leave, burying our fire and moving onward through the woods.

✶     ✶    ✶

Nobody is talking anymore. We all trudge, freezing, through the snow. An unspoken fear weighs on all our shoulders. Can we get them back? As I imagine holding Violet's hand again, I feel another dangerous bud of hope spout forth and I cautiously let it linger. For the first time, I may have a chance at beating death. It's stupid to doubt that it's possible. I'm actively walking through the enormous wooded interior of a frozen-over wardrobe.

I glance up to the tops of the trees again, watching as their boughs bend as we walk. I've never seen nature respond this way, but I suppose it must be the arrival of newcomers. Lucy smiles up at a swarm of pixies that hide within the branches of a nearby tree and I watch as she waves hello to them. I don't particularly believe in this prophecy which the Beavers are so bent on, but I can't deny that the Pevensies' presence seems to have made a passionate stir amongst the Narnians.