(no subject)
Outside, it's as cold as one would expect, in the heart of a Scotland winter. There are new mountains on the horizon; Edmund can't decide if he's unsettled by this or glad of it. Not Narnian mountains, of course, not the great ice-peaks of the West or Mount Pire and his rolling kin of the southern border -- Edmund will always recognize their silhouettes at a glance -- but all the same it's familiar to see white spires rising in a glittering world of trees and water and snow.
It's winter, and it's Christmas-time.
But inside the stable it's warmer, with sturdy walls and the body-heat of a few dozen horses. That's where Edmund is now, giving Rachat a rub-down after their afternoon's ride.
It's winter, and it's Christmas-time.
But inside the stable it's warmer, with sturdy walls and the body-heat of a few dozen horses. That's where Edmund is now, giving Rachat a rub-down after their afternoon's ride.