(Untitled)

[treading_dawn]

It is a quiet evening, the air still warm with the heat of the day despite the cool breeze blowing over the lake.

And into that quiet steps a tawny-furred figure, mane limned in gold by the fading sunlight.

The Lion is here.

He has always been here.

Some, however, will not be. And it is one such daughter of Eve that Aslan is waiting for now.

Comments

[called_lioness]

He's here, because he's always here.

Sometimes in different ways than others, but still always here.

Lucy is grateful for that fact, as ready as she is for it to always be like this, or better.

For the moment, though, she's content to walk across sand and bury her face in his mane upon reaching him, fingers stroking at gold fur automatically and lovingly.

[treading_dawn]

He is silent for quite some time, letting her hold on and (perhaps) gather her strength.

His voice, when he speaks at last, is the softest of rumbles.

"Hello, dear one."

[called_lioness]

"Hello, Aslan."

Soft and a bit muffled by fur, but it's full of love.

"I missed you." That's always there, and automatic.

Lucy always misses him, even when she hears him. She misses this.

[treading_dawn]

Soon she will not have to.

Not truly.

"I am here now, daughter of Eve. Shall you walk with me?"