In which a Wer-Wolf is fed, a Dwarf is prevented from urinating, the unseen scars from Curses are considered, and the Gentle Queen is perplexed by a new set of protocols.

It was truthfully said, in castle Cair Paravel, that while Peter was the High King, his sister Susan was perhaps the real ruler of things. It is widely known in Narnia that behind every strong Male stands a stronger Female telling him what to do with that strength – and often to keep it away from the good furniture. The four royal monarchs were siblings and not mates, but the sentiment stood, especially amongst those who personally knew the Gentle Queen.

The faun Valios was a firm believer in this theory. As chamberlain of Cair Paravel, he reported directly to the Gentle Queen, who had taken the castle and all its workings as her own personal domain. Susan, much like the rest of her family, refused to stand on ceremony with those Narnians she considered friends.

Valios never failed to give his Gentle Queen a piece of his mind, when he felt the need. Nor could it be said that Susan desisted from doing the same. Both believed that a true friend would not stay quiet in the face of foolishness. Unfortunately, each often thought the other to be a fool. Those who knew them theorized that they argued for pleasure, although nobody dared ask neither Queen nor Faun the truth.

When they argued, they did so quietly and conversationally; one would have to listen to the words, rather than the tone, to know the difference. Susan, relaxing on a divan in a sitting-room with the windows open to what light came from the east – for the strange darkness in the sky had not faded – privately wondered whether shouting would be easier. She often wondered that, especially when she knew Valios had a point. Or as the Dwarfs say, when he had her over the barrel.

"You can't think you can get a monster to speak with a few pats on the head," is what the determined Faun was trying to impress on his queen.

"It worked for Ed," Susan said. "I do not understand your complaint."

"His Majesty your brother made a dangerous gamble," said Valios. "Ordilan turned out to be a good man, not a Wer-Wolf."

"Have you looked at her?" Susan asked. "Have you gone down there and had a good look?"

"I have only heard what Ameia said this morning in council, my queen," said Valios. "We are fortunate that she is young and ill-fed; had she been at her full strength she would have done much more damage."

"You're imagining a monster," said Susan. "I went myself, and I saw a terrified girl who can turn into a terrified wolf."

"Precisely my point, Lady," Valios said. "Monsters. There are Beasts, and then there are monsters. We have reason to be wary."

"I will not condemn someone for what they are," Susan said.

"Every time I wake, my Queen, I am thankful for that fact," Ordilan said, bowing in the doorway. "You had need of me?"

"I wasn't expecting you so quickly," Susan said. "Please, be seated – Valios, will you send for refreshment?" Valios nodded and hurried away.

Ordilan took a seat on a thickly padded ottoman – placing his head, Susan noticed, below hers. "What will I do for you?" he asked, pre-empting any politeness Susan may have been preparing to offer. The Galmans were plain-dealing, Susan was well used to that by now. This Man's strangely formal manners in her presence were unexpected, although this was not the time to discuss them.

"I've had an idea about the Wer-Wolf," Susan said. "And I think I need your help."

"My life is yours, Lady, though I doubt you will need my few skills," said Ordilan, bowing his head. "You disarmed me quite handily, and I've no skill for diplomacy."

"Nonsense," Susan said, smiling. "You were half-dead from hunger and exhaustion, and I had a broadsword. It's hardly a fair test."

"A man half dead is half alive," Ordilan said, "and should still have his wits about him."

"My brothers would agree," said Susan, "but I think there is a notable difference when good food and good rest are added to the situation."

"As you say, my Queen," Ordilan said, more by reflex than agreement. His fingers flicked up to touch a reddish line on his throat: a mark, likely to scar, left from when Susan had disarmed him with her broadsword. "It appears I could learn a thing from you."

"And I from you," Susan said. "I'm told that you shattered the exact center of a knifeboard. Turned it to splinters, if I'm remembering Ed correctly."

"An idle hobby, underground," Ordilan said, shrugging dismissively. "We had not the materials to make bow and arrow, so we learned to hunt with throwing knives. What has this to do with a Wer-Wolf?"

"That is a different skill of yours I need," Susan said. "You are quite the storyteller, and right now I need information."

"I fear all of my information of Narnia is a hundred years out of date," Ordilan said.

"True, but Beasts do not change," Susan said. The creak of an opening door reintroduced Valios, who conveyed disapproval, curiosity, and tacit support with a single eyebrow. Valios placed the tray on a table, bowed, and exited the room.

Susan turned back to Ordilan. "What do your tales say of Wer-Wolves?"

"If your plan is what I suspect, my Queen, you may require my arm after all," said Ordilan, lifting said arm to pour the wine. He poured his own cup first, tasted it, and then poured for Susan.

Susan noticed this and filed it away. She'd always liked puzzles.

King Peter, to the surprise of his usually more organized brother, had created a list of important points to address in the morning's council meeting. The first problem: a sizable raiding party had come from nowhere. The second: it had done considerable damage to a Narnian army envoy which was hardly ill-guarded, and later had the strength to damage a Narnian military unit. The third: nobody knew how the first two things had been accomplished. The fourth, of course, was that the three prisoners were not inclined to shed any light on anything.

Castle Cair Paravel did not technically have dungeons. At least, not in the sense of secure rooms below ground level which were intended for long-term imprisonment. It had an extensive cellar that was used for storage, most of that food or fuel, though a few rooms kept jewels, armor, and other treasure. It was also where most of the Dwarfs in residence stayed, as they were uneasy sleeping above ground.

There were a few secure rooms in the wing used as a hospital, on the off chance that patients would need to be confined for their own good. When word had come in that the army was returning with captives, all of those rooms had already been put to use. The two Dwarfs and the Wer-Wolf, then, were kept in storerooms that had been hastily converted for the purpose.

The disposition of the captives from the Battle of Stormy Wood had been a particularly thorny problem that morning in council; the Narnians agreed that the captives needed to speak, and the captives would do nothing of the sort. At the end of the meeting, there were many ideas offered, but none that were guaranteed to work. Edmund, bolstered by his recent successes with the Galmans, had struck upon the idea of approaching the captives himself. Peter, half protective and half unwilling to allow Edmund to attempt something he did not, insisted on going along.

Thus it was in the long dark corridors of the castle cellar that the two Kings were found, bickering in a friendly way to cover the uneasiness they refused to admit they felt at the idea of turning any part of their home into a dungeon, no matter how temporary, or at the idea of enemies being held within the very walls which sheltered them.

"Let me see if I understand this," Peter said, lifting a torch from the wall.

"We have time, brother," Edmund grinned.

Peter thumped Edmund over the head, which elicited a scowl.

"If this is the only way that you can think, I can send for Oreius," Edmund offered, aiming a kick at his brother's most royal knee.

"Better him than you, he knows not to aim for my head," Peter grumbled. "But just to be sure I've got this clear, the dwarf pissed on Ameia?"

"They had him shackled to the wine-rack on the far wall," Edmund shrugged. "The chains were loose enough for the Dwarf to open his breeches."

"The far wall?" Peter asked. "That's – what, ten arrow-lengths?"

"At least," Edmund said. "If you spent half the time that I do in the barracks you'd not be surprised by this."

"Dwarfs," Peter grumbled fondly, the Red brothers of Blacktree still fresh in his mind. "Sometimes I don't know what Aslan was thinking."

"To keep us humble, brother," Edmund grinned.

"And remind us of our own weaknesses? Aren't the Giants for that?"

"Oh no," Edmund said casually. "Giants can match an arrow's flight when they've had enough grog. Besides – none of them would do that to Aslan. He probably finds it funny."

Peter chuckled. "And this rig the Galman set up – what is his name?"

"Androlus."

"Androlus, yes. Good man, I've spoken with him. Isn't it odd to say that? It took me a year to stop using the word on anyone but you, and now I have to start again." Peter shook the errant thought away. "He fixed iron rings to the ceiling and fed an exceptionally long chain through them?"

"Just so," Edmund said. "The door opens in, so you stand behind it and pull the end of the chain. It tightens across the ceiling and lifts the blighter's hands up from his—" At a cough from his brother, Edmund re-evaluated what he was going to say. "Out of harm's way. And then you fasten it to a hook."

"Ingenious. Won't it lift him off the ground entirely?" Peter asked.

"They had to play with it to ensure it wouldn't," Edmund said. "They put a bolt in the chain so it can only be pulled so far. The ring isn't wide enough for the bolt to go through. That was something to see – Ruchabrik offered to be the dummy, since we can't go lifting prisoners by their wrists. He made a game of it."

"Ruchabrik?" Peter asked in disbelief. "Wish I'd seen that." Ruchabrik was typical for a Black Dwarf: he professed no time for nonsense or silliness, and despite that he possessed a peculiar sense of humor. It was somehow unsurprising to learn that he and Edmund had become friends. Their fondness of gambling, Peter was sure, had something to do with it.

"As do I, brother," Edmund said. "He kept telling me to pull harder. He said if I was any kind of King at all I'd get his knuckles to the ceiling."

Peter barked a laugh. "Did you?"

"Think you these arms are for show?" Edmund asked, pressing a hand to a young, but not unimpressive, bicep. "He was very proud until the chain slipped and I dropped him. Hurt my hands and his dignity, but you know his arse didn't feel it." Edmund tapped a thick pair of leather gloves tucked into his belt. "I'll be needing these, my hands are still raw."

"I will," Peter said, deftly snatching them and tucking them into his own belt, one-handed. "I'm going to speak to this one."

"You already have," Edmund said. "Remember? He's the one who you spoke with on the way home."

"I'm not likely to forget that," Peter said. "The way he spoke gave me chills."

"He reminded me of Ginarrbrik," Edmund said, shuddering. With a little shake of his shoulders, he pushed the memory away – or tried to. Something lingered.

"Then you'll not mind my examining him in your stead," Peter said. "You can have the other – the quiet one." He raised a hand before Edmund could mount a suitable protest. "We've had listeners on him day and night. He doesn't say a thing when he's asleep, either. Of the two of us, you're the man to crack a silence." They turned one last corner. "Ah, Sergeant Ceron."

Ceron, the Satyr guarding the cell, slid from a chair (likely purloined from one of the upstairs sitting-rooms: it was upholstered) and stood to attention. He shifted his spear – a sharp, functional thing, not like the beribboned weapon Ardons held upstairs – to his shoulder and held his rough hands out in greeting. "Sires."

Peter, holding the torch, clasped one of Ceron's hands; Edmund took the other. "How is the captive today?" Peter asked.

"Oh, the same," Ceron said dismissively. "Told me that if he got free he'd chop my mother down, build a bonfire out of her, and then put it out by pi—"

"We get the idea," Edmund said hurriedly.

"What is it about this Dwarf?" Peter asked. "No – I'm not sure I want to know."

"Only weapon he has left to him," the Satyr shrugged. "Are you both going in?" he asked.

"Just me," Peter said. He waited as Ceron took the key from a heavy chain around his neck and unlocked the door. Ceron slid the door open, took a quick glance inside, then pulled it shut again.

"Seems as docile as he ever gets," Ceron said. "Sometimes he'll fight against the chains."

"Shame he made them necessary," Peter said, shifting the torch again. "Ed, take this, will you?"

Edmund took the torch and fitted it in an empty bracket on the wall. With a complicated series of glances and gestures, Ceron urged him to take the upholstered seat. Edmund did so, slinging a leg over the chair's arm. Edmund glanced back up, and after another silent conversation of eyebrows, he slipped a handful of dice from his belt pouch. The Satyr grinned.

"Ceron?" Peter asked, pausing in the doorway to put the gloves on.

"Yes, Sire?" the Satyr replied.

"I never thought I'd feel the need to ask this, but – just out of curiosity – how far can a Dwarf vomit?"

"How do you remember all of this?" Susan asked with frank admiration – and perhaps a pardonable touch of jealousy, considering the recitation she'd just received.

"A thing of necessity, when you live underground," Ordilan said. "We'd no easy way to make paper, so we couldn't copy the books we kept as often as we'd needed. They are fragile, and some are damaged. I can't recall who first raised the idea of memorizing what is in the books, but it isn't ours. It came from the mainland, or so I'd been taught."

"It has," Susan agreed. "In some parts of the forest, stories can only be told, because then they are alive in the teller. If they're written down in a book made of paper, it's as though you're putting them to death."

"By putting them inside a dead thing," Ordilan mused. "That does make sense. On the whole, though, I'll be in favor of books."

"I'd invite you to explore the library, but it's in pieces at present," Susan said apologetically. "When it has been restored, you're welcome to it."

"Aye, I heard of that," Ordilan said. "And of what you found within. Was a good idea to do that. We've stories of things being hidden here – I don't remember any myself, though others back home might."

"I'd like to hear them," Susan said. She smiled at the thought. "We can tear the rest of the castle apart when we've returned from Galma."

"Mind, you'll have to pry me from your books first," Ordilan said, amused. "Though I won't be much help in copying them – with paper scarce, we learned our letters by scratching in the dirt. I can read, but only slowly, and my hands are more accustomed to weapons than quills."

"We've enough hands for that," Susan said. "I'll make a formal invitation, if you'd like – so long as you don't ask for a camp cot to be put in the library. Ed would want one, and then he'd never leave."

Ordilan laughed. "Nay, Lady, I'll sleep in a proper bed. It's a luxury, still. But back to this Wer-Wolf—" here Ordilan smiled, a startling thing in his scarred face "—what were they like in your world?"

"We didn't have them, at least that I know of," Susan said, thinking. "There were – stories – about them," she said, choosing her words with care. Nobody in this world understood the idea of movies, no matter how carefully their monarchs tried to explain. "Ed would know this better, but as I recall, a Wer-Wolf was an ordinary person who'd been bitten by another Wer-Wolf. It traveled like a disease. I think they only became wolves on the night of the full moon."

"Well, you've no need to worry about that," Ordilan said. "Everything I know of them says that they're born as they are, and shift at will."

"Do you know anything about their society?"

Ordilan shook his head. "I know that they hunger, and that they are unnaturally strong. Our knowledge of them is as hunters – or, more likely, trying to avoid becoming the hunted."

"It's enough for now," said Susan, "and a relief to know that poor thing isn't a cursed Human, somehow."

"That poor thing – or one like it – maimed two of your soldiers before it was caught," Ordilan reminded her. "And one of Irlian's, as well. Talipas may never regain use of that leg."

"I thought you knew," Susan said. "It's been seen to. Lucy used her cordial."

"I thought that was for emergencies."

"I daresay saving the life and livelihood of a member of a lost people counts as an emergency," Susan chided gently.

"Of course, Lady," Ordilan said. "I confess – I still am expecting that this warm welcome will somehow run out."

"It won't," Susan said, rising from the divan. "We specialize in warm welcomes. Now – shall we prepare one for our Wer-Wolf?"

"A cold one, I think," Ordilan suggested, opening the door for Susan. "That's what your Wolves said she seemed to prefer."

"Cold it is, then," Susan said. She cast about outside the room, and found who she sought. "Valios? We're going to take some food down to the Wer-Wolf. Do you know if there's any fresh meat in the kitchens?"

"There is, Majesty," Valios said. "A pig was slaughtered just this morning." Valios glanced at Ordilan, who looked startled. "Do not be surprised, Man. It was a pig, not a Pig. We keep dumb animals for meat and leather."

"Mmh," Ordilan said, processing this information and dismissing it. "I'll be needing a blade as well."

Valios glanced meaningfully from the imposing man to Susan, implying that he would agree and thus overrule his queen if she did not capitulate.

Sensing defeat, Susan sighed. "You do remember Freki telling us that the girl's done nothing but show her belly, do you not?" she asked Ordilan.

"You know the stories I know, Lady," he said firmly. "I'll not have it on my throat that I was in a place to protect you and failed."

Susan nodded to Valios. "Meat for the Wer-Wolf, and whatever weapon this Man requests."

"Two long daggers, balanced for throwing if you've got them," Ordilan said.

Valios nodded, then called two small songbirds from a nearby tree. They conferred for a moment, then with a swing of his arm Valios launched the birds, who went in separate directions.

"If you make your way to the cellars, Majesty," said Valios, "these things will be brought to you."

"Thank you, cousin," said Susan, embracing the Faun.

"You should mind him," Valios said, before releasing her. "If he's an eye to your safety, I'm in favor of it."

"Nothing bad will happen," said the Queen. "I'm sure of it."

Peter stepped out of the room with a rueful shake of his head. Edmund stood and accompanied his brother down the hall, while Ceron closed the door and locked it.

"No luck?" Edmund and Ceron had played a rather perfunctory game of dice, much preferring to listen to the interesting argument that had erupted in the holding-room. Even that was a distraction to the lingering memory – there was something elusive that Edmund felt he should remember.

Together the brothers walked in silence through a few twists, and finally Peter stopped to turn to Edmund.

"For all he's saying about our mother, he might as well save his breath," Peter said tiredly. "It's not much of a threat to say you'll do something to a person who isn't in the same world as you." He slumped down on a rough wooden bench in the hall and tried to untangle his hair from his crown. "Not that the blighter understood what I was trying to say. Wouldn't let me get enough words in edgewise."

Edmund barked a laugh and sat next to his brother. "Do you want help with that?"

"No, you'll bruise me."

"Su's been on you to cut it. You should listen." Edmund snorted. "If the other Dwarf isn't talking either, I think we need to get some kind of expert in here to talk to them."

"Hmm," Peter said, picking at a particularly difficult tangle. "We don't have experts on this, do we? We've never had captives off the battlefield before."

"Think he'd speak to another Dwarf?" Edmund asked.

"Why didn't you think of that before?"

"I thought I'd save it so you could tell everyone tomorrow and look good," Edmund said, and then grew serious. "Think he'd speak to me? The Trees knew what I'd – been."

"Ed," Peter said, somewhere between warning and reassurance. This could perhaps have been more convincing had he not just found a twig in the tangle. At any other time, Edmund would have teased Peter about being after the Dryads again. That he let it pass showed Peter, more than anything else, how serious Edmund was.

"It's all right," Edmund said. "I'll not pretend it didn't happen. The Trees knew, though I don't know how. If this Dwarf is still enchanted as the Trees are, don't you think he'll recognize me the way the Trees did?"

Peter looked carefully at his brother, remembering many things: the pitted eggshells of his eyes when the forest curse had momentarily overtaken him; the unnatural flush on his face in the Beavers' lodge during that long-ago dinner; the sight of his body motionless and bleeding on the field of battle, his life leaking from the stab-wound left by the Witch's wand.

"I could not ask this of you," Peter said. "If you are marked, there may be danger in it."

"Then it's a damn good thing you're not asking," said Edmund, his shoulders set. "I'm telling you what I'm going to do."

The guard outside the Wer-Wolf's room was a rough, sturdy Oak dryad. He did not have a name, not exactly; many of the wilder tree-spirits only adopted spoken names out of convenience. Trees have their own way of communicating, and names are unnecessary to them.

"Good choice of a guard," said Ordilan, nodding at the Oak. "I'm not sure whether they can smell living blood or not." He shifted the basket on his arm: it contained several shanks of meat. Susan, to be fair, had carried the jug of water herself, dismissing all protests. Said protests had come from Valios, who followed behind the pair after personally seeing to the knives.

"Good day, cousin," said Susan to the Oak. "We've come to bring food to the Wer-Wolf. How does she fare?"

"I wouldn't know, Majesty," said the Oak. "She's been quiet. I've heard her scratching around a bit in there, but that is all."

"As wolf or girl, can you tell?" Ordilan asked.

The Oak shook his head. "I've not the nose for that." He took the key from its long chain – looped around his wrist, not his neck – and unlocked the door. Inside there was a scuffling noise.

Ordilan stepped between Susan and the door. "If she attacks, I'd prefer it to be me," he said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

Susan nodded. "I'll take that, then," she said, reaching for the basket. "And you stay here, cousin," she told Valios.

Thus unburdened, with both hands on his knives, Ordilan led Susan into the room. He needn't have worried; the young Wer-Wolf was curled in her pile of blankets on the floor, her back to the wall. She trembled violently. In woman-form she looked about Susan's age, with tangled hair and a dirty face. She wore no clothing, except for a peculiar scrap of string twined around her ankle.

"The poor thing," Susan said, softly.

At the sound the Wer-Wolf shrunk in on herself, then shifted to her wolf-form. Ordilan held a hand in front of Susan and took another step forward. The wolf whimpered, turning in her nest of blankets, and showed her belly.

"Don't," Ordilan said. "I don't trust it – she may be waiting for you to get close."

"That is quite enough," Susan said, setting the jug and basket on the floor. "Freki and her mate sniffed all over her, and Calio checked her for injuries. She didn't attack them. She won't attack me."

Ordilan sighed, pulled a knife from its sheath, flipped it in midair, and caught it by the blade. He offered it to Susan, handle first. "If you must," he said.

"I must," Susan told him, taking the knife and tucking it into her belt.

Susan opened the basket and brought out a small hunk of meat, not worrying about any mess it would get on her hands. It was, indeed, very fresh – the bloodiest she could find. Liver, the butcher had said, was best for starved Beasts. She approached the wolf slowly, speaking softly, trying to get the creature accustomed to the sound of her voice.

"You're about half-starved," she told the Wer-Wolf, "and I'll not have that in my home. This is my home, you know, that you're in. Most of it is much nicer." The Wolf, still on her back, eyed Susan carefully but otherwise held still. "I'd like for us to be friends, for it to be your home too. The Lion knows, you've been through enough already, and so young."

Any irony present in Susan telling a girl roughly her own age that she'd 'been through enough' was lost on Susan, but Ordilan made a small noise in his throat. Susan glared at him, then turned back to the Wer-Wolf.

"I've brought you some fresh meat," Susan said, stopping about two paces away from the wolf. She cast about and found the large metal pan that had been brought down as a feeding-dish. "I'll place it here for you, so that it won't stain your bed." She did that, then glanced at the torn blankets. "Any more than it already is," she amended. She glanced over her shoulder at Ordilan, who merely raised an eyebrow.

The Wer-Wolf, still on her back, watched the piece of meat with interest.

"The trick, dear," said Susan, "is that I'm going to stay here. I'd like you to stop being afraid. I'd like to speak with you." She settled herself on the ground and moved the metal pan closer to the wolf. "I can wait," said Susan. "I'm very patient. But I want you to eat, and then I want to speak with you."

For a length of time they waited this way: Susan kneeling on the floor, the Wer-Wolf on her back in the shredded nest of blankets, and Ordilan a few steps away, tensed for motion. Something had to give, Susan knew, and she was determined that it would not be her, though her knees ached on the stone floor.

Eventually, the Wer-Wolf rolled to her side, keeping her limbs close to her body and her tail tucked between her hind legs. She glanced at the meat, then at Susan, and whined placatingly.

"You can have it," Susan said, "but I'm not going anywhere."

The Wer-Wolf whined again. She laid her ears back and yawned widely, keeping her eyes anywhere but on Susan. Submissive signs, Susan knew.

"It's all right," the Gentle Queen said. "You can have it. I won't hurt you." She nudged the pan closer to the frightened creature, who shrank into herself at the scrape of metal against the stone. Susan waited further.

The Wer-Wolf flattened herself on the ground, her legs beneath her, tempted by the fresh smell of meat. Inch by cringing inch, she stretched herself to the pan. Susan held herself as still as she could and waited.

Finally the Wer-Wolf's jaws closed on the meat. She shrank back into the corner and made quick work of it, watching Susan with careful darting glances as she ate. When she was finished, she licked her muzzle clean – though some mess had got on her forehead – and watched Susan carefully.

"Can you be a girl now, for me?" Susan asked. "We've more meat for you, but we can't talk, you and I, when you're shaped like this." She held her hands out, palms up, fingers waving slightly. "Oh, I hope you know what I'm asking, or I'll feel an idiot. Please, sweetheart."

With a strange shifting ripple – a hard thing to explain but impossible to forget, once one sees it – the wolf became a girl. She scooted away until her back was against the wall and sat there, knees tucked to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She shivered. Susan could not tell what color the girl's tangled hair was, under the dirt and grime. Her face was bloodstained – which, Susan supposed, was to be expected after her meal.

The girl was breathing heavily, and it took a minute for Susan to realize that she was also speaking. Whatever it was, Susan couldn't recognize it.

"I don't know what you're saying," Susan said. "Don't be scared."

The girl kept her eyes fixed on the floor, speaking in a whisper-quiet monotone.

"I understand it," Ordilan said quietly. "It's the Old Language."

Susan tried not to startle; in truth, she'd forgotten the Man was there. The wolf-girl had not forgotten. She shrank even further into herself.

"She says she's sorry," Ordilan said, "and she hopes we kill her quickly." He fell silent for a moment, listening.

Susan blinked against the sudden sting of tears in her eyes.

"That's all she's saying," Ordilan said. "I'm sorry," he repeated, as the wolf-girl spoke. "I'm sorry. Please kill me quickly. Don't send me back. I'd rather die than go back. I'm so sorry."

Short notes this time, mostly smooshy gratitude.

Before anything else: a big huge army-sized shout-out to rthstewart for all that idea-slinging and help and poking me with sticks. You are amazing.

More army-sized shout-outs (and a few masked men) to Elecktrum, whose ideas from years ago are starting to come into play here.

I admit to stealing from these two geniuses as well. I've picked up several ideas about Edmund from Elecktrum: one being that his contact with Jadis left him somehow marked, and the other being that he is of a general disposition to get along well with Dwarfs. If you haven't read "Black Dwarfs, Blue River" yet, go – it's brilliant. Rth's fics have taught me about the innate animalness of Narnian Beasts, and it's a lesson I wish I'd learned earlier. Again, both of you, thank you.

I also wish to perform a general Hey You're Awesome shout-out to the fabulous ficcers at NFFR. That's Narnia FanFiction Revolution – google it for more delicious discussion and fic than you'll know what to do with.

And to everyone else: Whether you review or not, whether I ever speak to you or not, just know that I hope you're enjoying this. Yes, you. If you're reading, I mean you. A story's useless without an audience. Thank you for being one.