The Walk
On the rim of the horizon, where the sun is slowing dipping behind the Western Wild, Narnia marches towards the Wood.
Candles and torches, lanterns and matches light their way. Every Beast and Creature mutely searches. Once the sun is extinguished, there will be a rim of fire walking into the blackness, fading until it is swallowed up in the weeping Trees.
The sight, especially from the top towers of Cair Paravel, is daunting.
Prince Cor, along with a special battalion of Archenlanders keep guard over the castle while every last Narnian takes part in the Walk.
The young prince leans over the balcony of his tower, aware of the Autumn breeze creeping through the last warmish sunrays. It twists his hair. He thinks he hears it sigh before moving sadly on.
Five years ago, in the dead of night, a terrified message had reached the snowy peaks of Anvard: the Narnian Kings and Narnian Queens had vanished off of the face of the world.
Certain of kidnap or worse, tense meetings were arranged with Rabadash in his Southern temple and with the Giants of the North, with the mad beasts of the West and haunting sirens of the Eastern shoals. War seemed inevitable on some days, a vague threat on others. Cor and Corin were taken from their regular schedules and trained heavily in battle arts and politics. Aravis was guarded for fear of extremists laying blame on her presence in the North. Cor had barely been able to speak with her for days at a time. Corin was knocking people down left and right-- wound tighter than a Squirrel in a pit of Vipers. Cor earned more than a few of these punches while his temper grew under the stress that comes with being next in line for the throne.
It seemed certain they would never return. Stories of their mysterious arrival paralleled their strange departure. For once, a sort of unease filled the lands around Narnia-- just how well had they known the Four? They were like a glancing glimmer. Brilliant and sudden and just as easily gone. Where they came from and how they came; this was where the fables and rituals began.
Three years ago on the anniversary of their disappearance, General Orieus could take no more. Legend has it, he stood suddenly from his dinner (unheard of in Centaur etiquette), dressed himself in battle gear and shaved his hair in mourning. And then, with complete calm, he kissed his wife and sons, took a lantern and his great broadsword, and walked West.
He, like his Kings and Queens, was never seen again.
But now the Narnians had a way to honor their loss. They began to Walk.
Candles and torches, lanterns and matches light their way. Every Beast and Creature mutely searches. Once the sun is extinguished, there will be a rim of fire walking into the blackness, fading until it is swallowed up in the weeping Trees.
The sight, especially from the top towers of Cair Paravel, is daunting.
Prince Cor, along with a special battalion of Archenlanders keep guard over the castle while every last Narnian takes part in the Walk.
The young prince leans over the balcony of his tower, aware of the Autumn breeze creeping through the last warmish sunrays. It twists his hair. He thinks he hears it sigh before moving sadly on.
Five years ago, in the dead of night, a terrified message had reached the snowy peaks of Anvard: the Narnian Kings and Narnian Queens had vanished off of the face of the world.
Certain of kidnap or worse, tense meetings were arranged with Rabadash in his Southern temple and with the Giants of the North, with the mad beasts of the West and haunting sirens of the Eastern shoals. War seemed inevitable on some days, a vague threat on others. Cor and Corin were taken from their regular schedules and trained heavily in battle arts and politics. Aravis was guarded for fear of extremists laying blame on her presence in the North. Cor had barely been able to speak with her for days at a time. Corin was knocking people down left and right-- wound tighter than a Squirrel in a pit of Vipers. Cor earned more than a few of these punches while his temper grew under the stress that comes with being next in line for the throne.
It seemed certain they would never return. Stories of their mysterious arrival paralleled their strange departure. For once, a sort of unease filled the lands around Narnia-- just how well had they known the Four? They were like a glancing glimmer. Brilliant and sudden and just as easily gone. Where they came from and how they came; this was where the fables and rituals began.
Three years ago on the anniversary of their disappearance, General Orieus could take no more. Legend has it, he stood suddenly from his dinner (unheard of in Centaur etiquette), dressed himself in battle gear and shaved his hair in mourning. And then, with complete calm, he kissed his wife and sons, took a lantern and his great broadsword, and walked West.
He, like his Kings and Queens, was never seen again.
But now the Narnians had a way to honor their loss. They began to Walk.