School boy | Prince Caspian

14

"You're Aslan", Otto breathed. "Lucy was right".

"She often is", Aslan smiled, shaking his mane. Otto wasn't sure how the lion smiled so warmly. But the sight calmed his racing heart.

"Why are you here? Talking to me I mean", Otto stuttered. "I'm here on accident. Shouldn't you be talking to Lucy? Or Peter?" He stepped closer, slowly approaching the large creature. Aslan's shoulders came up to Otto's chest and his body was longer than Otto was tall. Otto should be running from such a large predator but Aslan held a aura of soothing, powerful, protective warmth. Otto wasn't scared.

Aslan chuckled. "You are not here on accident. You belong here Otto".

Otto felt himself tear up. The words more of a relief than he expected them to be. He wiped them away on his sleeve. "Thank you. I love it here".

"Even though you have been through hardships?" Aslan asked. The lion regarded him curiously.

Otto shrugged and sat on the earth next to the lion. The gloomy trees no longer bothering him. He felt relaxed. The feeling made him honest."I made my decision. Bad people are everywhere. My choice saved lives and I would choose it again, even after being captured by Miraz. Yeah I could die. But I would much rather die here than back in London".

Aslan let out a deep breath, the air brushing over Otto's head and rustling his hair. Otto laughed. "You are loyal and brave young Otto. I wish you luck with what's to come".

——

Morning the next day, over twenty four hours since he had been captured, arose with marching troops. Otto was awoken with a bucket of cold. He gasped, torn from his dream harshly as he sputtered. Clothes and hair soaked to his skin as the chill nipped at him. The soldiers laughed as Otto glared. Two bent down and unchained him from the wall and heaved him to his feet. They forced him to a stumbling march.

Otto was shoved down the city streets. Houses of pastel colours and white bricks with flower boxes and pretty stalls. People watched from their windows and their doorways as the army passed. Otto sandwiched between two units, forced to continue moving despite his painful muscles. The children pointed at his sandy brown hair, lighter than their black heads. They were shushed by their mothers and bustled inside. The atmosphere somber and silent, a sharp contrast to what must be a beautiful city. Otto could see how the chaos of the royal drama had affected the citizens. They were worn and distrustful. Watching him with fearful eyes and pale faces.

Otto kept his head held high, despite the slight limp in his step. He refused to appear cowed. Outside the city were more men and dozens of wagons full of supplies. Otto could see huge catapults being drawn by horses. The telmarine forces easily out numbering the narnians. Otto hoped that Peter had a plan.

"Move boy!" A soldier commanded, pushing him harshly towards a wagon. It was mostly full of barrels. The soldiers shoved Otto inside, lifting and bending his legs until he was squeezed in the left over space. The wagon had a curved roof of tarp, with wooden poles holding the cloth up. There was also a wooden door, which banged harshly as the soldiers shut it. They locked the padlock and bustled off. Otto flicked his middle finger at their backs.

By the time the army began to march off some time later, Otto had managed to wriggle himself into a semi comfortable position. Every movement ached but it was bearable. Otto had been injured before. Not normally on this scale but this was nothing he couldn't withstand. He was grateful it was only bruises and shallow cuts, nothing broken. The jolt of the wagon moving made him wince. There was a gap in the tarp and Otto peered through it as they moved. He hummed to himself in boredom. The journey a uncomfortable rocking motion of bumps and creaking wooden wheels.

"On the farm every Friday", he sang aloud. "On the farm, it's rabbit pie day. So every Friday tha comes along. I get up early and sing this song". The war song coming strong and loud on his lips. Children would sing it back in London. A tune carried in pubs and across the radio. Both a warning and a hopeful cheer. The war there seemingly a distant memory now. But Otto continued singing. Voice growing louder and his confidence rose.

"Run rabbit, run rabbit.
Run, run, run.
Don't give the farmer his fun, fun, fun.
He'll go by without his Rabbit pie.
So run rabbit, run rabbit.
Run, run, run.

Run rabbit, run rabbit.
Run, run, run.
Bang, bang, bang goes the farmer's gun.
Run rabbit, run rabbit.
Run, run, run".

Unedited

AN; Run rabbit run is a old English song from the Second World War. It is a classic still sung in the countryside. I was taught it in primary school.
Depending on who the rabbit is, it can both be a cheering song, or a warning.

Here it is if you want to listen.