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Phoebe felt as though they'd been walking for days on end, but she knew it was just an illusion. The glaring sun reflected off the snow, making her squint her eyes. The lighthearted conversations she'd been having with Susan and Lucy had somewhat kept her mind off it, but the walking was becoming a far more arduous task by the minute.
Looking over her shoulder, she could see their footprints stretching far off into the distance. The beavers, despite their legs being far smaller, had somehow managed to stay ahead of the four children for all this time. Peter had fallen behind, keeping his thoughts to himself.
"Hurry up, humans! While we're still young!" Mr. Beaver's tone was surprisingly upbeat, considering the fact that he was carrying a far heavier bag in contrast to his body weight (he and Mrs. Beaver had switched roles several times over their trek). Phoebe didn't know how he managed it. A low mumble came from Peter behind her.
"If he tells us to hurry up one more time, I swear to whatever powers that be, I'll turn him into a large fluffy hat." Phoebe laughed despite herself, lifting her hand up to her mouth to muffle the sound. Peter's head snapped up to look at her, but she turned around swiftly before he could catch her eye.
Phoebe didn't miss the half-questioning, half-knowing looks she was getting from Susan and Lucy. Susan was smiling at her, as though she knew something Phoebe didn't, and Phoebe glared at her briefly. Unfortunately, it didn't diffuse the situation - it just made Susan collapse into her own fit of giggles.
"Walk faster, you lot! There's no time to have a laughing fit now!" Phoebe heard Peter mutter something under his breath again, clearly in response to Beaver's demands, and she wondered when exactly he would get around to turning the small creature into a hat.
"He is getting awfully bossy." Lucy's voice was pensive, less accusatory than Phoebe would've expected. It was always something that had fascinated Phoebe about younger children - the way that they could keep their emotions rather in check. Phoebe may have had five or so years on her, but Lucy was likely far more mature.
"I know, Lu. Maybe we ought to feed him to Aslan when we get to his camp." The girl gasped, before bursting into laughter. Susan looked over at Phoebe, still smiling in that knowing way of hers. Phoebe glared at her again, but Susan just shrugged and turned back to the way she was originally facing.
"Whichever one of you keeps telling jokes ought to know that we've got a great deal more walking to do!" Phoebe could've sworn all for children (maybe even Mrs. Beaver) groaned. Beaver meant well, but his chastising tone really was not helping.
Some noise drifted over to them, floating on the wind. By this point, Phoebe was almost convinced she was going utterly mad - that was, until, the noise got closer and louder. It was bells, small bells, making a high pitched noise. The type of bells that were normally attached to a sleigh.
Wait - didn't the White Witch use a sleigh?
"The Witch! Run!" Beaver's cry of fear and horror was enough to spur them into action. The four children began to run, Peter swiftly outpacing the three girls. Lucy was stumbling, tripping over the coat which was far too long for her. Phoebe and Susan held her hands, partially to steady her, but also to practically drag her along.
They sprinted towards the nearest cover, a patch of trees and rocks sprouting from the snow, almost buried beneath all the white. The bells drew ever closer. Okay, having a sleigh was a very clear advantage. The beavers dove under a rock and Peter reached their hiding place soon after.
The girls, however, were still lagging behind. Phoebe could see the hopelessness and desperation flashing across Peter's face as his gaze went between them and the hiding place. Evidently, he decided on them, because he ran back, grabbed Phoebe's hand (she was the furthest forwards) and pulled them along to the rocks where the beavers were hidden. The four children fell almost face first into the snow, their breath coming in hurried gasps.
Peter, seemingly becoming aware of himself, released her hand. She almost missed the warmth of his hand around hers, but she knew it was only for practicality. The small group of seven huddled close together, praying to whatever power there was that they wouldn't be found. The bells still drew closer and closer, until they stopped. A slight snowfall came over the edge of the rock they were under, and Phoebe's breath caught in her throat.
The Witch was right on top of them. Well, now they really were done for, weren't they? She could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage, a sound so loud she was surprised no one could hear it. The blood was rushing through her ears, drowning out almost everything else. Phoebe knew she was facing a very real possibility of death, and it terrified her right down to her core.
A shadow fell over the edge of the rocks, and a few footsteps crunched through the snow above them. Then, silence. In fact, the pure silence almost scared Phoebe more.
"You don't suppose she's gone?" Lucy's voice was little more than a whisper, tremors like that of an earthquake running through it. Her fear was palpable. Peter gulped audibly from Phoebe's right side, and her gaze flicked over to him.
"I should- I should go look." Phoebe could hear terror, plain as day in his voice, but he sounded determined to be the big brother. The protector. Whatever else he needed to be. Phoebe supposed that was a somewhat admirable quality.
"Are you daft? You're no use to anyone if you're dead, boy." Beaver stood up quietly, brushing off the snow that had gathered on his tail.
"Neither are you!" The worry was clear in Mrs. Beavers voice, and it almost hurt Phoebe to hear it. In fact, she made a decision then.
"I'll go." She stood (well, crouched, she was under a rock after all). "I'm not in the prophecy. You can afford to lose me." The Beavers' jaws dropped, and she gave them an apologetic smile. She'd sacrifice herself, she supposed, if it meant Lucy and Susan and the Beavers got to live. Maybe even Peter.
"Phoebe, you can't!" Susan's voice was shocked, stunned, afraid. Phoebe just shook her head at her. Phoebe knew that if anyone should go, it should be her. Peter had said it himself, after all. She was irrelevant.
"Don't go, Phoebe. I should go." Peter's voice was anguished, and the fact that he was showing some form of compassion for her left Phoebe reeling. She'd just expected him to stay silent, but she looked down at him and shook her head once, a brief denial.
She'd lingered enough. Steeling herself, Phoebe stepped out from under the rock. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, wanting to prolong the inevitable for as long as possible. Why hadn't the witch grabbed her yet? Wasn't she meant to be public enemy number one? Slowly, Phoebe lifted one eyelid. Okay, she was not expecting that. She gasped, her jaw dropping rather comically.
It was Father Christmas. Santa Claus. Phoebe blinked a few times, trying to convince her brain that yes, this really was happening. The look on his face was amused, presumably because of Phoebe's less-than-courageous actions when she emerged from the cave.
"I hope you've been good!" Phoebe laughed, her fear from earlier slowly trickling away (some still remained, though). "There's someone here to see us!" She heard rustling from under the rock, and the two beavers emerged, stunned expressions quickly replacing the fear on their faces. Peter came out next, the very definition of wide-eyed shock. He looked over briefly at Phoebe, some worry evident in his gaze. Lucy and Susan then emerged, Lucy's face lighting up like a Christmas tree (which did seem rather fitting, given the circumstances).
"Father Christmas! Merry Christmas!" Lucy's voice was filled to the brim with childlike wonder, excitement filling her tone. Even Susan was allowing herself a smile. Peter still couldn't quite wipe the shock off his face, neither could the beavers.
"It truly is, Lucy, since you've all arrived." The old man's voice was deep and merry, and he grinned while he spoke.
"We- we thought you were the Witch." Peter's voice was weak, scared, even. It seemed that the previous events had frightened him more than he'd like to admit. He sounded younger, too. Phoebe supposed he'd thought they were all going to die - after all, hadn't she thought just the same? Father Christmas simply chuckled, a booming, deep sound.
"Well, it isn't my fault she stole my idea of a sleigh! I have been riding one longer than her, after all." The small group allowed themselves a brief laugh, still not fully recovered from the earlier events.
"I thought there wasn't Christmas in Narnia anymore?" Susan's voice was high-pitched and curious. The old man nodded sagely to her.
"You would be correct, Your Majesty. Not for a long time. But since you and your siblings arrived, the hope you've brought has weakened the Witch's hold on Narnia, if only briefly. Now, less somber matters. I dare say you could make good use of these!" He pulled out a large, brown bag from the back of his sleigh, and the intake of breath from around the circle was immediate.
"Presents!"
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yayyyy chapter time!!!!
anyway they start to get longer from here (:
until next time (wednesday)
all the love, K xo