For Mulcahy

[treading_dawn]

There is a tang of winter in the air, the trees are bare, the lake is icy cold--and yet there is still the faintest scent of violets down by the waterline, sweet and heavy.

And should an observer be alert enough, he might catch a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye.

Comments

[cheerychaplain]

Father Mulcahy walks by the lakeside, thin army (summer) jacket drawn close around him. He likes to appreciate His wonders great and small, even when, he reflects wryly, they are cold as the dickens.

He pauses by the edge of the water and smiles. It smells like spring, even if it may still be a few months away here.

[treading_dawn]

Something is reflected in the water, a tawny-furred shape that is much larger than any lion has a right to be.

It opens its mouth, teeth sharp and white and--

Speaks.

"We are well met, Son of Adam, here at the end of all things."

[cheerychaplain]

Father Mulcahy freezes.

It is only for a second or two, though, as he stares at the wavering, rippling reflection.

("And He visits this bar, in the form of a lion.")

He turns.

Our Father, Who art in Heaven.

He removes his hat and touches his knee to the cold ground.

[treading_dawn]

"Rise, child. There need be none of that between us, here."

Warm golden eyes, bright and solemn and full of such love, never waver from the chaplain.

There is a rumbling purr deep in Aslan's chest, and he lowers his head a little to regard Mulcahy from a more comfortable height.

"Though I do have one question for you, to begin."

There is quick silence, as if all the world is waiting for the answer.

"Shall you walk with me a space?"

The day is, as it happens, far too cool for standing still to be entirely comfortable.