The Changing Tides
The Changing Tides
Nearly dying's not so bad this time around.
The Changing Tides
Once, when he was still a very young child, Edmund Pevensie had nearly died.
This time was nearly exactly like that first time - caught in the middle of the ocean with his many-layered English clothing dragging him down, eyes stinging with the salt of the water and mouth full of the very same, arms beginning to burn with the exertion of fighting to stay afloat in the waves that tossed him about every which way, a blind sort of panic beginning to well up within him as he wondered which way, exactly, was up.
Only this time, well - a few moments later, as he stood on the deck of the Dawn Treader, shivering with the chill that had seeped through his soaked clothes and into his bones, Edmund found himself letting out a laugh. Everyone on board exchanged glances that were half amused at and half worried for the legendary king (except for Eustace, of course, who muttered something underneath his breath that sounded a lot like “Nutter”).
Edmund grinned as he breathed in deep, inhaling the scent of the Narnian sun that laced the Narnian air, the old tightness in his chest (an unfortunate relic of the Wardrobe) unwinding as Narnia herself hummed from somewhere deep within him. His heightened senses drank in the noise of the waves rushing past them, the feel of the woven blanket that had been given to him, the people surrounding him, the everything that was his home.
“Edmund?” Caspian asked tentatively, as Lucy merely quirked an eyebrow at her brother.
“You know,” Edmund said thoughtfully, savouring the taste of the Narnian sea that still lingered on his tongue, “I don’t think I’ve ever minded nearly drowning as much as I just did.”
Nearly dying's not so bad this time around.
The Changing Tides
Once, when he was still a very young child, Edmund Pevensie had nearly died.
This time was nearly exactly like that first time - caught in the middle of the ocean with his many-layered English clothing dragging him down, eyes stinging with the salt of the water and mouth full of the very same, arms beginning to burn with the exertion of fighting to stay afloat in the waves that tossed him about every which way, a blind sort of panic beginning to well up within him as he wondered which way, exactly, was up.
Only this time, well - a few moments later, as he stood on the deck of the Dawn Treader, shivering with the chill that had seeped through his soaked clothes and into his bones, Edmund found himself letting out a laugh. Everyone on board exchanged glances that were half amused at and half worried for the legendary king (except for Eustace, of course, who muttered something underneath his breath that sounded a lot like “Nutter”).
Edmund grinned as he breathed in deep, inhaling the scent of the Narnian sun that laced the Narnian air, the old tightness in his chest (an unfortunate relic of the Wardrobe) unwinding as Narnia herself hummed from somewhere deep within him. His heightened senses drank in the noise of the waves rushing past them, the feel of the woven blanket that had been given to him, the people surrounding him, the everything that was his home.
“Edmund?” Caspian asked tentatively, as Lucy merely quirked an eyebrow at her brother.
“You know,” Edmund said thoughtfully, savouring the taste of the Narnian sea that still lingered on his tongue, “I don’t think I’ve ever minded nearly drowning as much as I just did.”