LOWBORN : Edmund Pevensie

34

It is two days before the army must leave, and Edmund insists upon seeing me. I try to encourage him that it might be best to rest and relax all day, and his counter is that he relaxes best when he is with me. I don't see how, given I would be on edge next to someone who had every intention of taking my life a few months ago.

He asks me to meet him in the foyer of the castle. When I arrive, I notice he is wearing a long coat. In his arms, he has another. On the ground are four ovular intricately-woven wooden contraptions, as well as another pair of boots.

"Hello," he says to meet.

I greet him, curtsying.

"You don't have to do that for me," he jokes. He moves up to me and helps me put on the extra coat.

"Where did you get this?" I ask.

"Ornia arranged for the coat and boots," he answers.

The material is made of thick animal pelt. I worry that it was sewn from the fur of a talking animal, rather than one from my kingdom. It seems highly unlikely to me that they would make a coat out of a sentient creature, but I cannot be sure. Regardless, I put the coat on.

After I slip into the boots, he grabs the wooden ovals off the ground, "does the cold bother you?"

"Not too significantly," I tell him. Narnian winters, at least since the passing of the White Witch, are not as horrid as a Lumorian winter. We are farther north, so it is miserable. I've heard that the Calormen do not get a single snowflake in the winter. I cannot fathom such a thing. "I don't mind being cold all too much. Evangeline, on the other hand, she couldn't stand it growing up. She would not be in the snow even if her life depended on it."

"Well, she leaves with us at dawn in two days," he tells me.

I do not need the reminder. High King Peter had me meet with the physician after our rendezvous yesterday. I am actually quite skilled at sewing closed wounds. I will likely join the physician in the army, learning skills upon the way to battle. The physician is of the mind that people learn best in combat.

We might not agree, but I am ready for the task.

"What do you have planned for us this afternoon?" I ask, trying to distract from the war. I'm sure that is why he is here as well. We must both find comfort in the other.

"We're snowshoeing," he smiles.

I furrow my brow. He holds up the wooden ovals in his hand, and I gather that is what is used when one snowshoes. I do not know what he means though.

"I'm afraid we don't have that in Lumor," I explain.

He nods, "It's from Spare Oom, as you put it. It's not even a tradition of the country I'm from in Spare Oom. I had some beaver friends of mine create them, modelled off of their own tails. Would you like to try?"

"How does it work?" I ask.

He gestures for me to follow him, and so we head outside. It is snowing lightly now, and the ground is covered in quite a few centimetres of snow. We trudge through the deep stuff until we are outside the castle gates.

"So," he explains as we walk. "I'm going to fasten the snowshoes to your boots. Then, you should be able to walk with ease. It's a bit clumsy though, just as a warning."

I've never been particularly good with my feet. His older brother taught me how to dance quite long ago, "do you remember the first time we danced?"