"Ettinsmoor? Is that what we're calling it now?" Imira asked.
"Better than 'the northern lands the Ettins inhabit' don't you think?" Peter asked in return.
"I suppose it's catchy," she agreed. "So what do we do now?"
Peter looked around the room...
(Note: a tree is a unit of currency used in Narnia.)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The movement of leaves, the creaking of wood, the stomping of hooves and the clanking of armour was all Henry could hear as he –along with everyone else– waited for Imira to return with news.
As the minutes ticked by the relative silence of the morning was soon filled with quiet conversations. Wagers on the outcome were placed and theories as to what was taking so long were discussed.
"They are negotiating the surrender,"
"They are setting the date for battle,"
"They are waiting for the other to yield,"
Speculating was all there was to do. That and sweating.
The sun was rising and with, it the temperature. If the parlay didn't hurry, the summer warmth would become unbearable.
"Ten trees say they surrender," Alcibe turned to Henry, her horse stomping its hooves.
"Alcibe, do you think I was born yesterday?" Henry replied, faking offense.
The blonde laughed. "Never said that,"
Henry smiled.
"They're coming," Eurybe announced and her sister and Lord Henry turned their attention back to the field. She tried to decipher the outcome by Imira's face, but it revealed nothing.
"Still wanna make that bet?" Henry questioned Alcibe.
The woman said nothing.
Everyone straightened themselves and all conversations stopped before the Queen pulled to a halt.
She looked at them, concern, anxiety and uncertainty on their faces. Even Henry looked doubtful.
She took a deep breath and sat even straighter.
"They have surrendered," she announced, allowing herself a smile.
The battlelines exploded with cheers loud enough for the Ettins to hear.
"I never doubted it," Henry smiled.
I did, Imira thought. She was confident in her forces and the little speech they had come up with the previous day, but, gods, Ettins were unpredictable. One wrong word, one misinterpreted sentence and they could have you flying across the field with a flick of their hand. As confident as Imira was, she did not enjoy the uncertainty.
