"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...
It took me a while to publish, but hey, it's a long ass chapter! (March, 9, 2020)
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It was a pleasant February morning when they headed back to Cair Paravel, there wasn't much wind and the sweetest type of snow had started falling. After enjoying a lush breakfast of meat, warm bread, cheese, hot apple cider and grapes, the camp was packed up and everyone got on the move.
Narnia wasn't big on roads, considering most of its inhabitants were outdoorsy creatures with a strong knowledge of the country's geography of owners of maps, no one had ever found the need to make any. And the new Kings and Queens were no exception to this.
"It's a short trip, we'll be in the castle in a matter of hours," Peter told Imira as they started their journey.
"Do you think we'll make it for lunch?" Imira asked, she was looking forward to Cair Paravel's delicious food and comforts. She had had her fun on the outdoors now and, as much as she liked nature, winter always brought back that one nasty memory.
"Not with this snow," Peter said, looking up at the sky. It had gotten cloudier and it gave him the impression the wonderful powdery snow would soon become a heavy fall.
"Is that why it took you as long as it did to get back? Because of the now?"
"Precisely. The weather is a bit harsher in the north, but you know that. It was winter when you went to look for Firestream, wasn't it?" Peter loved hearing that story, about how Imira met a dragon and tried to defeat the witch.
"It was," Imira said, remembering how that had turned out. "Hey, did you by any chance happen to have run into a St Bernard by the name of Snowfoot on your trip north?" Snowfoot had been a crucial ally in her trip to find Firestream, had it not been for him she wouldn't have made it. When Peter told her he'd be going North she had asked he inquired about her canine friend and, if he found him, invite him over. But of course, with everything going on in her mind she had forgotten to ask when he got back.
"Snowfoot, right. No. I did ask, per your request, but a squirrel by the name of Pebblepitch informed me Snowfoot, uh... he died a few months ago,"
"What?" Another friend gone.
"He was an old chap,"
"No, he wasn't he was just..." then she remembered, "right, five years went by. Now it makes sense,"
Peter didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything. They continued riding in silence until at last Imira spoke again.
"If it wasn't for him I would have frozen to death up there, or gotten killed by that hag. He saved me, you know,"
"Which hag?"
"I didn't tell you about the hag?" Imira asked. She was sure she had mentioned it sometime.
"I believe I would remember such a thing," Peter said.
