Mrs. Beaver reached under the table and pulled out a handful of beige sacks. She tossed one to Mr. Beaver and each of the children. The sacks felt almost like sandpaper, rough and slightly itchy to hold.
“If I may ask, what are the sacks for, Mrs. Beaver?” questioned Peter.
“Oh, do tell me, would you like to have nothing to eat on the way?” replied Mrs. Beaver, barely looking up from the cupboards.
“Well, at least let us help you,” offered Peter. “Lu, Susan, why don’t you handle napkins and a bit of cutlery, just in case.”
Lucy opened a drawer and pulled out a chunk of napkins and placed it carefully at the bottom of her scratchy sack. Susan swung open the door of a light, coffee-brown cabinet. She grasped four little forks, two big forks, six spoons, and six knives. She tossed them into her sack. Meanwhile, Peter had untied a cloth bag and pulled out two still-warm bread loaves. The aroma wafted through the air like a cloud on a sunny afternoon. Peter used every ounce of willpower in his body not to wolf down the whole thing. He shook his head, then placed the bread in his sack.
After collecting a couple more things, they set off. Lucy walked behind Peter, who was kicking snow with his boots to make a path for her. Peter walked behind Mr. Beaver, who did not need a path, for he was much smaller and did not sink into the deep snow.
Susan walked in front of Mrs. Beaver and behind Edmund. Edmund was behind Lucy. At first, it was nice: the scenery, the deep smell of pine, the crisp, yet beautiful, wonderland. The snow glistened like the moon’s reflection in a puddle. Cold, bland snowflakes melted on Lucy’s outstretched tongue.
It’s surprisingly peaceful, thought Lucy.
Then, as if Susan had read her sister’s mind, she remarked,
"How calm is this? No witch on our trail, no bitter cold nipping at our fingers and toes!” Then, a sly grin slowly spread across Edmund’s face.
“Not a single saber-tooth tiger is chasing us!” shouted Edmund gleefully.
This inspired his siblings to also think about the pleasing things happening at the moment.
“Yes! And no yetis or snow-monsters trying to gobble us up!” agreed Peter.
“Why, I don’t believe I feel the urge to faint in this egregious weather!” Lucy giggled. This brightened the mood and made everyone feel as though they had sipped a hot chocolate. They trekked through the bitter-cold snow, white as an Arctic fox’s pelt. For the rest of the journey, it was silent. You could hear a pin drop, if only pins made a sound when they fell onto the thick, icy turf. After what felt like several hours, they arrived at a mound of dirt, which had a blanket of powder snow. There was a small hole in the side of it, embedded in jet black shadows. Lucy cocked her head at Mr. Beaver. Then, in the blink of an eye, he disappeared down the hole. Lucy caught a glimpse of his flat brown tail wiggling through the opening. Without a second thought, she too slipped in. She was followed by Susan, then Peter, and finally Edmund. Mrs. Beaver tossed a torch in the hole and also wiggled in.
When the six of them were snug, the four Pevensie kids heard a scratching sound. Then a whoosh, and the torch was lit. It showed a warm glow, lighting up the area. Each child was teeming with confusion, but each and every one of them were far too exhausted to ask any questions. Without a word, they passed around the sacks, quietly nibbling on their share of food. When they were finished, they folded up the sacks to use as pillows and fell into a deep sleep.
Submitted by Ms. Lijoi
Photo by Laura Lauch on Unsplash