(Untitled)

[treading_dawn]

It is a warm night, as far as these things go, though there is a breeze coming off the lake.

In the forest, deep among the trees, there is a flash of bright gold.

And then again.

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[whitest_witch]

There is, likewise, a flash of white. Someone cold not sleep.

Someone is walking the forest, noiseless on bare feet, gown almost glowing in the moonlight, in the shadows.

[treading_dawn]

He keeps pace with her, velveted paws noiseless on the dry ground, breath blending seamlessly with the rustle of the wind in the trees.

[whitest_witch]

The witch pauses. Turns. Stops very, very still.

"Aslan." It is little more than a breath but, although there is still fear in her voice, there is less blind hatred than perhaps once there was. Still hatred, yes. But no longer blind. This is personal. And this hurts.

[treading_dawn]

"Jadis."

His voice is solemn and deep, like the tolling of a great bell.

"What do you here?"