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"I see," said Shasta to himself. "Those are the big mountains between Archenland and Narnia. I was on the other side of them yesterday. I must have come through the pass in the night. What luck that I hit it!—at least it wasn't luck at all really, it was Him. And now I'm in Narnia."
He turned and unsaddled his horse and took off its bridle—"Though you are a perfectly horrid horse," he said. It took no notice of this remark and immediately began eating grass. That horse had a very low opinion of Shasta.
"I wish I could eat grass!" thought Shasta. "It's no good going back to Anvard, it'll all be besieged. I'd better get lower down into the valley and see if I can get anything to eat."
So he went on downhill…
“The thing about Narnians,” Hulmik’s grandmother used to say, stroking her beard in a resigned manner, “Is that no one ever does anything unless explicitly volunteered by others to do it.”
The words were true back during the famine of the Long Winter, when fear gripped Dwarf families in their hiding places in the mountains—particularly Black Dwarfs who were not interested in playing a part in the Witch’s victory. And yet, they were perhaps even more true now, over a decade since the end of the Long Winter, in the comfortable reign of the Four—when the citizens of a small, yet-unnamed village clustered about a dusty path, the footprints a rider from Archenland left behind scarce minutes ago now utterly trampled by some terribly excited Talking Beasts and a Dwarf or two.
“Master of Horse to King Lune?” a distraught-looking Squirrel exclaimed, wringing its tiny paws.
“I would have noticed a speckled Archen horse,” said a sleepy-looking Badger. “We only saw a Prince.”
“But he came on foot!”
“We haven’t stolen nothing,” a Dwarf grumbled. “Their trackers must’ve gotten lost. Why should we be held responsible for Human matters?”
As most eventful mornings go, it had started rather quietly. Hulmik the Dwarf, for one, had simply gone out to refill their jar of sugar for brunch, and having said hi to a neighbor or two on the way there, was mostly focused on getting back home as quickly as possible when they nearly knocked into the small crowd that had formed on the village’s main path.
It wasn’t often one saw Humans in these parts. Hulmik could count on one hand the amount of times they had heard of humans this far South of Cair Paravel: once, when the Four travelled through the country for the very first time, over a decade ago; another time five years ago, when Lord Peridan heard of the particularly good raspberry jam the Boffels had learned to make and ordered twenty jars—presumably for himself; and finally, scarcely three weeks ago, when a young Human walked into the village, had breakfast with Duffle, and turned out to be the long-lost Prince of Archenland… who was soon retrieved by the Narnian army.
And now, a rider on a tall horse from Archenland, tersely announcing that the village had a week to produce said Prince’s lost steed, property of the Crown. Things never happen until they all happen at once.
Of course, in a crisis, everyone had something to say—and no one was listening to a thing. If the rider from Archenland had known the excitable nature of the residents of the village, Hulmik thought, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so willy-nilly with name-dropping his King and issuing warnings.
“Why, we ought to take a stand! They can’t accuse us of thievery!”
A Magpie hopped in amusement. “I’d like to see you take a stand in front of the entirety of King Lune’s cavalry.”
Two Hedgehogs clutched each other. “They’ll trample our burrows for sure.”
“Not if the Cair hears of this first—then it’ll be King Edmund we’d have to reckon with.”
“Now, let’s not get all up in our ears,” said the first reasonable voice in the crowd. It was Dandelion, of course, stomping on the ground one to get everyone’s attention. “This is a serious matter, but it’s also a simple one. Archenlanders don’t know these parts; they could never find the horse on their own.”
Hulmik’s grandmother’s saying was perhaps the least true when it came to Dandelion. The cream-colored Rabbit was standing quietly at the edge of the crowd, long ears at an angle, the way she always looked when her mind was racing. Out of all the Narnians currently losing their heads, she was perhaps the only one who would actually do something about it.
And, Hulmik figured, they’d probably have to get involved, too, if this matter was to be seen to its end.
“What we need,” Dandelion said, eyes meeting Hulmik’s over the crowd, “is a proper search party—a committee of locals to find the horse and uphold our new village name. After all, we can’t possibly mean to name our village after the Lion with accusations of thievery over our heads!”
There were some nods of agreement in response to Dandelion’s suggestion, but naturally, no further suggestions. It was understood that Dandelion would take the lead—and so, Hulmik was a natural addition to the search party. They had built something of a reputation as of late, helping Squirrels find their misplaced stashes and tracking down a petty rumor or two. Nothing too major; just a natural application of the skills that made Hulmik a great appraiser of gems, combined with Dandelion’s natural outgoing attitude.
“I suppose you’re already forming a plan, anyway,” Dandelion said, joining their stride with a hop that meant business, as they left the crowd behind.
“I have an idea or two. No beast can truly get lost around these parts.”
“You need a good pair of ears and a nose for something like this,” she quipped, whiskers twitching with amusement. “And it’s in my best interest to see this through, after all. We may yet learn a lot about Lionsbrook.”
Hulmik did remind Dandelion, over a hearty planning-session-slash-brunch—well, eggs and ham and scones for themselves, and some fresh lettuce for Dandelion—that the entire point of this was for Hulmik to remain objective. There was no use in trying to solve this mystery if one was narrowly focused on making sure it proved anything.
“I know that,” Dandelion said in between mouthfuls of lettuce. “But what’s the use of trying to get our village officially named if we’re thought to be thieves? Our reputation must be protected if anyone is to call us Lionsbrook.”
“And when we do find the horse—and if you are proven to be right about this whole Lion business—then maybe you can keep a bridle or something for the museum.”
“Exactly,” Dandelion nodded. “And I want to know for sure, anyway, before I put all my carrots in one basket.”
The museum was Dandelion’s most ambitious plan yet: a massive burrow—large enough for visitors of any size—highlighting Aslan’s glorious appearance, scarcely three weeks ago, said to have occurred somewhere in the vicinity of their village. There were certainly enough accounts to support this theory: Dandelion’s own cousin, Biscuit, had been among those to first receive Archenland’s long-lost Prince at the very heart of the village, and everyone could confirm that the massive stream of fresh water near the cliffs at the border had appeared overnight—although whether or not the idea that the stream source’s unusual shape was because it had been created by the Lion’s massive paw, or that there had been Human footprints coming from that spot, were actually true, remained to be seen. And Duffle did confirm that at a banquet with the Four where he was present, Prince Cor confirmed that his arrival in their village had been preceded by a meeting with Aslan.
“But do you believe it could have been Him?” Dandelion asked, pushing away the now-empty saucer she had been using as a plate.
Hulmik shrugged. They were a hands-on, matter-of-fact Dwarf. With all due respect, they’d never really cared for anecdotal spiritual experiences, which is why they’d never really cared much about whether the stream by the cliffs was actually shaped like a Lion’s paw or not.
“In the end, what matters is that Prince Cor was saved, and Calormen was defeated,” they replied, buttering one last scone. “And we all know that Aslan—wherever He is—has and will continue to protect Narnia. In the face of those two powerful facts, I suppose I don’t put much weight on bodies of water and their history.”
Dandelion leaned back in her seat. “It’s more about the symbol of it, though. Everyone knows the facts, but a symbol like this… it gives meaning to our little village. You know that more than anyone,” she added, looking towards the little room to the right of the sitting room—Hulmik’s appraisal study, which was full of gems and brooches of all sorts: creations or findings from Black Dwarves of the area, each one with their own meaning.
And Dandelion did have a point—Hulmik’s fingers, ears, and long black beard were heavily adorned with intricately-wrought metal and gems, each one with their own meaning. Black Dwarves, after all, were most strict about showcasing every affiliation, achievement, friendship, wedding, or child, with jewelry. “Well, certainly, if the Lion can leave a footprint that large in one of His rare appearances,” they conceded, “then your museum would be a fair way to commemorate the event.”
Naturally, the first place to go was the Horses. Hulmik wasn’t quite sure if asking would be offensive, but a Horse is a horse after all, even if a horse isn’t a Horse. They tried running it through Dandelion tactfully, but these sorts of questions had never been their strength. And by the time they reached the rather remote field where the Horses tended to spend the time—with a short water break by a stream nearby—they were more focused on getting answers.
“A horse?” asked a large, brown mare with a huff. “Why should we know?”
“Well,” Hulmik began, not entirely sure how to continue.
“We’re asking all the neighbors around the area,” Dandelion cut in with a chipper voice. “And seeing as a horse can run off quite far, we thought we’d ask the best runners among us.”
It worked. In no time, they were surrounded by a circle of eager muzzles, all chatting among themselves, their tall bodies thankfully protecting Hulmik and Dandelion from the onslaught of the hot sun in the open field.
“Why, I’d know if I’d seen a horse around these parts—we don’t see them much unless someone’s riding down from Cair Paravel on business.”
“And there’s not much of that business around here—we keep to ourselves.”
“But we’re sociable, too!” exclaimed an excitable-looking grey Horse. “My cousin’s wife’s sister serves Queen Susan, did you know—”
Some rolled their eyes. “Yes, we know.”
“Anyway, we would have noticed a speckled horse. We would have scared it off.”
“Don’t like horses.”
“This would have been three weeks ago,” Hulmik put in. “The day Prince Cor came to Narnia and King Edmund and Queen Lucy set off to Archenland.”
“Oh, that day.” There was some more munching and thinking.
“That day we were on a picnic.” Nods all around. “Fifty miles Westwards—there’s excellent grass there.”
“But your horse wouldn’t know that,” the brown mare explained. “We discovered it. If it’s still around here, I bet it’s settled for something closer. Dumb horses don’t know to think long-term like that.”
They all nodded. One or two bent down to take some mouthfuls of grass.
“We need to narrow down the area,” Hulmik mused. “And think like a horse.”
“Couldn’t help you with that, sorry,” said one of the Horses. “We’re very different, you see.”
So the Horses wouldn’t be much help. Hulmik and Dandelion regrouped in a patch of grass. By now, it was the middle of the afternoon, and Hulmik worried they might be losing time.
“We need a map,” they said. “To identify the best grazing spots.”
“Then we could trace back its steps!” Dandelion agreed, sniffing the air. “And I bet they will lead straight to Aslan’s footprint.”
Hulmik shook their head in amusement. “You’re getting ahead of yourself!”
But Dandelion was still sniffing the air. “I think some neighbors might be able to help,” she said, dusting off her tail and looking out over the grass. “There’s a burrow near here.”
The burrow, tucked neatly into the treeline, turned out to belong to Dumble and Stabley, a Badger and Mole duo—and the best assistance Hulmik and Dandelion could count on in a situation like this. Crouching into their comfortable—if a bit lumpy—couches in their living room, Hulmik watched the Mole pull out map after map of the area, carefully drawn with the finest lines they’d ever seen on paper.
“Dumble does the drawing,” the Mole explained. “I do the digging.”
“They don’t need the underground stuff, though,” Dumble told him, rifling through a wall-full of carefully organized scrolls. “Horses don’t go underground.”
Stabley paused, a paw over some of the prized maps. “Are you sure? They could be helpful.”
“I’m pretty sure, mate.”
The maps were gorgeous: detailed and even colorful in some spots where the Badger had chosen to add illustrations. They had, of course, put a lot of effort into their maps of Cair Paravel and Beruna—but it was the smaller maps of their area that Hulmik and Dandelion focused on the most. Well, Hulmik focused on them because they were exactly what they had been looking for. Dandelion, on the other hand, was absolutely fascinated.
“Do you think you would like to frame these for display?” she asked their guests. “I think I’d have the perfect place.”
“Dandelion,” Hulmik interrupted, bent over the low table to look at one of the maps, before this became a meeting for the Rabbit to pitch her new enterprise. “I think we have three options.”
Dandelion looked at the map. From the cliffs (beautifully drawn), the path down was narrow. On one side, it stretched out into the woodlands, and they knew that area would probably be harder to navigate as a horse, with many roots jutting out here and there and not much grass at all. On the other side, it led straight to their village—or Lionsbrook, if Dandelion had her way. From there, there were three large grassy areas that could have easily enticed a horse.
With a hearty thank you to Dumble and Stabley—from Hulmik—and some negotiation of museum logistics—from Dandelion—they left with a map under Hulmik’s arm and a promise of a meeting with Dandelion later in the week.
“Good luck!” Stabley cried out after them from the door. “Let us know if you have need for any digging!”
And so they were off on their way again, just as the sun was beginning to set. The rest of the investigation would have to wait until the next day. And so, with some pats on the arm and a wave, Dandelion hopped away towards her burrow, and Hulmik made their way back to the house—and to some hot tea, or perhaps hot chocolate.
Dandelion was back at the house bright and early the next day. Maybe a little too early, as Hulmik awoke to the sound of her tapping on the window (which was much too high for her, so they could only see the tips of her ears on the way to the door). She’d brought gifts, though: some blackberries, apples, and a handful of carrots. And so, after blinking the sleep out of their eyes, Hulmik had toast and fruit for breakfast, and it was shaping up to be a good day.
The first of the places with “horse potential,” as Dandelion put it, looked like the perfect place for a horse to settle—some shade, some sun, lots of grass—but was utterly deserted. Some Hummingbirds flitting by the trees reported that there had been no horses here today, this month, or even this year. And so, the search continued.
The second spot was about a forty-minute walk, and with the sun higher in the sky now, Hulmik was happy for some breaks in between.
“This is the day,” Dandelion announced, after drinking some water from a little stream. “Today we find the horse and rightfully establish Lionsbrook, as Aslan would have wanted.”
“We can’t claim to know what Aslan wants,” Hulmik said. “Perhaps especially when it agrees with what we want.”
“All of this looks like a sign from Aslan to me,” she replied.
“Well, isn’t that the trouble everyone has with Black Dwarfs?” Hulmik said with a wry smile. They thought of their uncle Gorrik, who no one spoke of anymore; they had served under the Witch, back when everyone had had to make choices to survive. “Too skeptical?”
“Aslan made every Beast and Being different for a reason,” Dandelion said, reaching out a hand to help Hulmik to their feet. “And in this case, I suppose it’s just two ways to come at the same thing.”
“Which means that if we do find proof, it’ll be twice-confirmed.”
While the second spot led to nothing, the third grassy field was even further—almost an hour in the opposite direction. And the sky was starting to become grey. Dandelion kept sniffing the air and taking longer hops at a time.
“You’re going to leave me behind,” Hulmik complained—mostly joking.
“For fellow underground-dwellers,” Dandelion exclaimed, “you Dwarfs are particularly terrible at escaping.”
“That’s because we are blessed with great strength and skill.”
“Well, prove your leg strength and skill at not getting caught in the rain!”
This field was the largest, and it had the best grazing spots of the three—or so Dandelion asserted. And, interestingly, across from it there was a small house with smoke coming out of the chimney, and two Red Dwarfs plopped on rocking chairs on the porch, their feet up on some old benches, hands folded over their beards. One of them opened an eye as they approached.
“Well, if it isn’t Hulmik—it is Hulmik, isn’t it? Grribik and Torrik’s child?”
“That’s me,” said Hulmik. “Are you the Boffels?”
“Aye,” said Ginnel Boffel with a grin. She’d clearly just woken up from a nap. “I think I was at your twelfth name-day.”
Her twin, Stobin, got to his feet and offered them the stools. Hulmik took one; Dandelion preferred a patch of grass. “Rabbits only have one name-day,” she said. “If we did twelve for each child there would be a name-day every week!”
“Ah, well, twelve isn’t so much for Dwarfs. We live very long. Twelve’s just about enough for us to try out different names.”
“Well, not for everyone—I had a name day ten years ago,” Ginnel said. “It depends. Hulmik’s twelfth was excellent, though. And look at you now! What brings you here?”
Mildly embarrassed at childhood memories, Hulmik brought themselves back to the issue at hand. “We’re looking for a horse that may have been lost in these parts, three weeks ago.”
The twins shared a surprised glance. “Lion alive!” exclaimed the brother. “We did see one! On the day when the battle of Anvard broke out.”
“A speckled horse, aye? We found it grazing right out here, right as we ran out of the house. We were on our way to join the army, you see—that’s why you’re finding us on our porch on a week day; Ginnel got her leg swiped by a nasty Tarkaan.”
“A minor graze,” Ginnel waved away their looks of concern.
“We thought it could be an army horse. It had that build. We figured someone from the Cair would know who to return it to—Lion knows there’s no one in this area who’d have any use for it.”
“So you took it to the Cair?”
Stobin shook his head. “I wish we had. We’d heard the rumors, though, so we met up with the army as they passed through—Prince Cor was there, too! We didn’t know it was him then, though. Anyway, we took the horse with us, but in the whole kerfuffle—”
“Sorry to say we lost it. It didn’t want to come with us, though, so it kept pulling at the reins. Almost made us late. I daresay that horse was done with the army life, whoever it belonged to. Who did it belong to?”
“King Lune’s Hunting Party.”
Ginnel’s eyes widened. “You don’t say! Well, I knew it was an expensive horse. Unfortunately, neither Stobin nor I know pebbles about hauling a horse from one place to another. We left it by the Southern road, just a little ways down in a clearing to make sure it had some shade to graze in, but when we came back it was gone. I suppose it took advantage of our kindness.”
By the time they had exchanged their niceties with the Boffels and made their way over to the Southern road, it was most certainly looking like rain. Hulmik lifted Dandelion up on their shoulders so that Dandelion could pick a pair of leaves off a nearby elephant ear plant. This foresight proved quite useful some fifteen minutes later, when droplets of water started to land on their heads.
“Do you want to find cover?” Dandelion asked, as big drops of water splashed onto the dirt path before them.
“I want to get there first,” Hulmik replied, shaking the droplets out of their beard. “I reckon there’ll be cover there.”
And so, they persevered, holding leaves over their heads to ward off the worst of the rain. Hulmik’s boots and Dandelion’s feet were caked in mud by the time they arrived at the point in the road where the trees curved out into a small clearing the Boffels had spoken of. The edge of the clearing had better tree coverage and just enough space for Hulmik to stand in between the trees without getting poked by branches and thorns, so they were able to tentatively put down the leaves they had been holding up. But when Hulmik turned to Dandelion, she was busy staring into the forest, sniffing at the air.
“Something smells different here.”
Hulmik looked around. The trees were denser in this part of the wood than most parts of Narnia they had visited, and though it wasn’t that far off from where they lived, it felt very different.
Not foreign, though—in fact, distinctly Narnian.
“It’s dryad country,” Hulmik whispered, looking around them.
Dandelion, who had been running her paw over the bark of a tree, stopped abruptly, wide-eyed. “Would it be right to go forward?”
They shared a glance. Finally, Hulmik shrugged. “I don’t think they have a doorbell.”
If the trees at the edge of the clearing had blocked out some of the rain, the deeper they went, the more they forgot it had been raining at all. The tree canopy was dense here—so dense that it felt like nighttime, with the few bursts of light from the already cloudy sky above resembling starlight.
Instinctively, Hulmik and Dandelion walked closer to each other. It felt like a sacred space, and one they wouldn’t want to disturb. The Trees, too, seemed to be guiding them, creating a path before them, while the rest of the forest was so densely populated that even Dandelion wouldn’t have been able to make her way through the foliage. Hulmik was somewhat comforted in the knowledge that if the dryads truly didn’t want them there, they wouldn’t have been able to enter at all.
And then, suddenly, a voice, echoing among the trees.
“This is a sacred space. This is a nursery for our kind; a place where the young ones play. It is not a place for outsiders.”
The speaker was a tall dryad with small, white bulbs scattered about her long hair. She stood directly in front of them, the Trees clustering in behind her, barring the way.
“Forgive us for overstepping, my Lady,” Dandelion said, sinking back in her haunches as a sign of respect. “We are neighbors.”
“We have had Rabbits visit dryads before; but a Black Dwarf is a rare visitor. What brings you here?”
Hulmik bowed. “We wished to ask those who live here some questions about an incident three weeks ago.”
The Dryad frowned. “Our fauns are young, and do not venture beyond our nursery,” she said. “They will not know of what you speak.”
“But what of dumb beasts?” Hulmik asked. “Do they venture in?”
“They entertain our young sometimes, so we allow them,” she replied.
“Then perhaps our charge has ventured in—and your young ones will know of what we speak.”
There was a shudder in the Trees, then, and the Dryad looked behind her. Dandelion’s eyes were wide, her ears straight up in the air. But then one of the Trees shifted, and the Dryad’s expression softened, and a small, curly head poked out from between the leaves.
“Who are they, Mother Willow?”
“This is Dandelion, and my name’s Hulmik. And we’re looking for a horse.”
The little faun’s eyes darted between them, then back to Mother Willow. The Dryad, clearly picking up on his nerves, placed a gentle hand between his antlers. “Have you any knowledge of a horse, child?”
The little faun swallowed and looked away. “Must I talk to them, Mother?”
“You need not,” she replied. “But if there is something on your mind that could help our neighbors, perhaps it would be best for you to share.”
The faun’s eyes darted again. He lowered his voice. “But Aurelius would not want me to share.”
“Then perhaps Aurelius ought to join us, too.”
The Trees parted, and two more fauns appeared, sitting on the grass. They looked up curiously. With a nod of permission from the Dryad, Hulmik and Dandelion stepped forward until they were much closer. The first faun had run back to his friends, so Hulmik squatted down in the grass until they were at eye level with the little ones.
“Have you heard of Prince Cor, young ones?” Hulmik asked.
“Who is that?” one of them put his little hands up to his chin, as if preparing to hear a story.
“He was one of the twin sons of King Lune of Archenland, but he was stolen away when he was a baby. Three weeks ago, he found his way back—all the way from Calormen, where he had been living as a poor man’s son!”
“Is that very far away?”
“It is very far away. He must have been traveling for a very long time. And when he finally arrived, he didn’t even know he was King Lune’s son! He simply joined the King’s men as they were riding. But then he got lost again.”
“Again? How did they let him get lost right as they found him?”
Hulmik didn’t really have an answer to that, and Dandelion shared an equally mystified look. “Well, he made his way on the back of one of King Lune’s horses, all the way up to Narnia… and that’s when he found some of us Narnians, like Dandelion here’s cousin, Biscuit. But he lost his father’s horse.”
“And what happened to the horse?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Because King Lune and Prince Cor are worried for it; it’s been out here for three weeks.”
The little faun dropped his hands from his chin in delight. “Oh, but they don’t need to worry at all!”
“And why’s that?” Hulmik asked.
The three fauns looked at each other, expressions shifting to some remorse.
“I’m sorry, Friend Hulmik,” said the one Hulmik suspected was Aurelius. “We know what happened to Gobble.”
“Gobble?”
“His name is Gobble. He came to live with us three weeks ago. He likes apples the best.”
“That’s how he got his name.”
The little fauns turned and pointed towards one side of the clearing. Now, eyes adjusting the dim lighting, Hulmik suddenly realized that there was a large animal there—a decidedly plump, speckled horse, happily munching on grass, oblivious to the international intrigue it had caused.
The fauns clearly adored it. Even as they spoke, they walked over to pet it. Around the horse’s neck was a necklace of wildflowers and leaves, and flowers and berries had been woven into its mane (some of which it had clearly succeeded in removing and eating). The saddle and bridle were nowhere to be seen.
Gobble, indeed.
“Does this mean he has to leave us? Please say he can stay. Maybe you can let King Lune know, so he doesn’t worry anymore?”
Mother Willow—who Hulmik had nearly forgotten was present, as she had been so quiet during the conversation—placed two gentle hands on the faun’s shoulders. “Child, this horse is the property of the King. He will need it for his riders.”
They looked horrified.
“But Gobble doesn’t want to be in the army. He likes being here and eating apples, with us. Otherwise why would he have stayed for so long?”
You couldn’t really argue with that logic, Hulmik thought, and they knew Dandelion was having the same thought. Suddenly, what had seemed an inherently noble search had lost some of its flavor, as the little fauns’ eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry, but the horse still belongs to Archenland, not to us Narnians. It will have to return there.”
The little fauns burst into tears.
Dandelion derived great pride in her name having the word lion in it, especially being a Rabbit of her size. It was a big name for a small creature, so she made up for it in cleverness and heart. And Hulmik had never seen her in a situation where she didn’t have something to say.
This, therefore, was a first.
“Are you alright?” Hulmik asked her, with some concern, as they left the forest. Mother Willow had agreed to bring the horse when word came that the rider from Archenland returned. The fauns, yet grief-stricken, had huddled around Gobble as one would with a particularly beloved family member.
Dandelion rubbed her eyes with her paws. “It just feels like we ought to do something. Those fauns have been quite lovely to the horse. And they are right—what dumb beast would prefer to be in the army than spoiled by a family of young fauns? At any rate, very few Talking Animals would prefer that.”
“I don’t know that there’s much we can do,” Hulmik said with a sigh. “Horses are expensive. King Lune’s Master of Horse is not likely to want to be parted with it.”
Dandelion stomped on the ground with frustration. “But Aslan was here. And I know Aslan would prefer the horse roam free and loved—maybe that’s why it was able to get this far in the first place!”
“You don’t know that, Dandelion.”
“But I feel it.”
They settled into an uncomfortable silence. The rain had stopped by the time they left the forest, and the land before them was now all soggy grass and muddy paths, but the clouds were clearing out. They stood at the edge of the tree line and looked out. The road before them would make a straight line to their homes.
“I suppose we’re done, then,” Dandelion said quietly, whiskers shivering in the crisp air.
Hulmik looked down at their friend’s dejected ears, and placed a hand on her back. “Not quite, Dandelion. We’ve still got the biggest question of all to answer.”
She looked at them in confusion as they squatted by a patch of mud, a stick in hand. The drawing Hulmik made was a far cry from Dumble and Stabley’s cartography—but it served its purpose.
“See, we’re here. And we know that the Boffels brought the horse down to this spot from their house, which the horse got to on its own. That would have been at least three hours after the Prince’s arrival, because by then the twins had already heard about the battle at Anvard.” Hulmik narrowed their eyes in concentration. “Which means that the horse took its time grazing, but had to have come from somewhere in this direction. Someone must have seen Gobble before the Boffels.” They couldn’t help themselves; the name had stuck.
“But why does that matter?” Dandelion asked. “We’ve found him already.”
“If Gobble really is a horse from Archenland,” Hulmik explained. “Then he would have made his way through the gap, same as the Prince, right?”
“Yes.”
“We know that at some point, the Prince left Gobble behind—presumably, right after his conversation with Aslan.”
“Yes.”
“Then, if we know the first place Gobble appeared, and we know the first place the Prince appeared—and everyone already knows the location of the gap, of course—then we can triangulate these locations to identify the most likely path the Prince and Gobble took into Narnia.”
“Oh. And then—”
“—we will know if the suspiciously footprint-like stream that appeared in the cliffs is in that path and, indeed, a gift left by Aslan, and therefore the village’s namesake.”
Dandelion placed a paw on Hulmik’s hand and gripped it gratefully. “Lionsbrook.”
“Exactly,” Hulmik said triumphantly. “All that’s left to do is retrace Gobble’s steps.”
The sky was beginning to turn orange behind the scattered clouds by the time they finally walked their way from the Boffels’ home towards the cliffs. Birds flew home overhead, sometimes calling out greetings, and they passed a few other neighbors on the way, most trying to catch up on errands they had not been able to complete in the rain.
Although Dandelion’s ears still looked rather dejected, there was new energy in her hops as they made their way closer and closer to the cliffs. Hulmik was rather tired, to be honest, but kept that to themselves; if the satisfaction of discovering the horse’s location had been lost with the realization of its circumstances, at least Dandelion could get some closure on the Lionsbrook theory. Hulmik only hoped—against every part of themselves that tried to remain objective—that her faith had not been misplaced.
It was as they passed a family of Hedgehogs hanging up some minuscule tablecloths beside a particularly intricate porch, that Dandelion reached for Hulmik’s arm again with a quick tap.
“Do you see anything unusual about their home, Hulmik?”
“They’ll see you staring,” Hulmik whispered. “I suppose it’s just a Hedgehog burrow thing.”
“No, it’s certainly not that.”
Hulmik looked up—and stopped in their tracks. The arched, brown, leathery porch outside the Hedgehog family’s door was decidedly not a Hedgehog thing—and neither was the long, leather strip upon which the Hedgehogs were currently hanging their tablecloths.
Of course, they noticed them staring. “Hullo, neighbors!” one of them called out. “Nice, isn’t it? We’d been planning renovations for some time, but this landed on our doorstep, so to speak!”
“It’s beautiful!” Dandelion exclaimed in a friendly manner, hopping over immediately. “But, say—I can’t help but notice it looks a lot like a saddle… and this other part, like part of some reins.”
The Hedgehog who had spoken cocked their head to a side, looking towards the saddle which was parked in front of the burrow entrance. “What’s a saddle?” they asked. Their wife, done pinning her own tablecloth, ambled over to join them. “Have you seen this model before?”
Dandelion turned to look at Hulmik and they shared a rather frantic look.
“Er,” Hulmik began eloquently. “Where did you find it? It’s beautiful. And by chance, did you happen to see a horse around these parts on the day Prince Cor came through the village?”
“Hmph,” said the first Hedgehog, narrowing their beady eyes. “Maybe? That would have been early in the morning, wouldn’t it have, dear.”
Their wife nodded. “There wouldn’t have been many neighbors around these parts. But we normally notice the bigger creatures—when was this again?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Oh. OH—could it have been the Horse we saw, darling?”
“It wouldn’t have been a Horse, ma’am, because the Horses were all on a picnic elsewhere at that time. What was this one like?”
The first Hedgehog shrugged. “Big. Long legs, I suppose. Horse-like. It seemed a bit confused. To be honest with you it’s quite hard to tell who’s a horse and who’s a Horse when you’re seeing them up from this angle.” They lifted a claw towards the sky. “But it had a white belly, I can tell you that.”
“Any spots?”
“Maybe? It looked confused. Didn’t say good morning or anythin’. Horses aren’t normally that rude, so I suppose this could be your dumb horse.”
“Funny coincidence,” the wife put in, clapping her paws. “That was the same day we found these porch parts! Can’t assure you you’ll find anything similar in your size, though, unfortunately. Not that you need it, Friend Dwarf—I know your people are quite good at carving some wonderful pieces of your own!”
“Th—thank you,” Hulmik replied, not entirely sure if they were thanking them for the information or the compliment. “Do you think you could show us exactly where you found them?”
The Hedgehogs were somewhat confused, but good-natured nonetheless. And so they closed their front door and led the way, hand-in-hand, towards the cliffs.
And as they hiked up the slanted path, Hulmik saw it: The shimmering line of water rolling down the hill in the sunset, falling from a pool that had the distinct shape of a lion’s footprint.
They sat by the pool for a long time, watching the water roll down the slope of the mountain. Hulmik lay back on the grass, staring up at the changing sky. The first couple of stars had begun to gleam in the darkest spots.
Dandelion, meanwhile, dipped a paw in the water and swirled it, watching it ripple. Her excitement at the revelation that she had been right along, Hulmik knew, was still somewhat dampened by the idea of returning Gobble to Archenland.
“Maybe we’ve been thinking about this all wrong,” Hulmik said. “Maybe it is a symbol.”
Dandelion looked up. “I thought you didn’t believe that.”
“I think it means that we ought to put ourselves to work. The museum is about more than just the name of Lionsbrook, after all. It’s about the people of Lionsbrook, too.”
She sighed and hopped over to where they were, rolling onto her back in the grass. “And protecting that legacy means doing the right thing, yes. I suppose Aslan wouldn’t be in agreement with a stolen horse, either.”
“But we can also be creative, Dandelion. Maybe we don’t have to say goodbye to Gobble, after all.”
Sometime after their marvelous discovery, Hulmik found themselves seated in a comfortable chair right outside the wide door to a spacious burrow, a cup of iced apple cider in hand and a crowd of all sorts of Narnians before them. The air was full of niceties and excitement—and of course, the smell of good food—and people kept bumping into Hulmik with a variety of exclamations.
“Why Hulmik, how excellent you look! What a proud moment. I always knew you would end up in big places!”
“Isn’t it so impressive? Who would have thought our little village could pull this off?”
“I’ve never seen the Trees so excited about something.”
“It just goes to show, we Rabbits always get things done (and you too, Hulmik, of course). Did you know I’m Dandelion’s cousin twice-removed?”
It was all rather noisy, but Hulmik didn’t mind. Dandelion was hopping onto the little stage that had been set up in front of the burrow entrance, underneath the shining new sign Dumble had designed:
THE LIONSBROOK MUSEUM
It had a similar design to the sign to its right, on the little house built right by the burrow, the door of which was currently closed (due to the holiday):
HULMIK’S APPRAISALS AND COMMUNITY DETECTIVE AGENCY
Dandelion stood proudly in front of the bright red ribbon that had been strung in front of the museum door, and stomped her foot to get the crowd’s attention.
“Quiet down, folks!” called one of the Boffels, and a trio of little fauns collapsed to the ground, giggling.
Dandelion clasped her paws as the audience turned to focus on her. “Welcome, everybody! Welcome to the Lionsbrook Museum—the first building of its kind!”
“Our museum features clay sculptures of Aslan’s footprint with its exact measurements, as well as carvings of how we believe the stream grew, contributed by our local Dwarf smiths. We also have some beautiful maps of the area, contributed by our local mapmakers, Dumble and Stabley! And finally, some mementos from Prince Cor’s historic arrival: some dishes, a teacup and a spoon from the Prince’s first Narnian breakfast, generously donated by Duffle and his brothers, and the very saddle and bridle used by the horse Prince Cor rode when coming into Narnia—a gift from the Hedgehog family.”
There were cheers all around. Some Squirrels threw nuts into the air, and some Birds flew loops overhead. Hulmik wisely covered their drink, just in case.
“I am also delighted to report that we have a visitor among us: Lord Beinn, whose visit first brought to our attention the issue of Gobble the horse! Lord Beinn generously shared our story and invitation with King Lune of Archenland himself. I am delighted to announce that we have been promised a visit by Prince Cor soon—he swears by our Narnian breakfasts!”
The last comment nearly shook the ground, as Duffle and his brothers whooped and clapped louder than anyone else. Lord Beinn—looking rather nervous but not displeased—offered a half-hearted wave to those around him. Biscuit the Rabbit, looking quite professional, offered him a paw to shake, which only seemed to confuse him more.
“Best of all,” Dandelion continued. “Lord Beinn has assured us that Gobble the horse can now continue reside in the Dryad nursery, along with the children there. Today, bakery sales—featuring the Boffel twins’ famous jams!—will go towards purchasing Gobble from King Lune, although he has been very generous in his offer. Thank you for coming, and please enjoy the event!”
And as everyone clapped (most of all the young fauns, who were shushed only a little by their Dryad nursemaids), Dandelion cut the ribbon with some shears.
With that, the crowd milled into the burrow, which although large, wasn’t quite made for such a volume of people. As a result, Hulmik found themselves pressed up against the wall just beside the entrance; although, being much taller than the Rabbits, Hedgehogs, and Squirrels (and not as outlandishly tall as Lord Beinn, who would have to remain rather painfully twisted to stand inside), they could actually see their surroundings rather well.
The beautifully-dug burrow, directed by Stabley and executed by a cohort of Red Dwarves and Rabbits, was perhaps the most grandiose place Hulmik had seen in the region. Beautiful jeweled candle sconces kept the place bright, while wall carvings prepared by Fauns and Black Dwarves illustrated the tale of Aslan and the Prince around the entire circumference of the room. The items being showcased were on carefully-built stands, labeled in crimson ink. Three particularly energetic Hummingbirds had been tasked with the job of shrilly calling out Don’t Touch! to overly-handsy visitors.
“It looks beautiful, Dandelion,” Hulmik said with a proud smile. The Rabbit was still by the door, starry-eyed, and she moved closer to them to speak in hushed tones as more neighbors pushed their way in. Outside, they could hear music begin, and the smell of the baked goods signaled that the fundraiser would likely also earn Gobble a few pounds of apples, on top of his freedom.
“I have a vision,” Dandelion said, rather secretively, rubbing her paws together as she looked at the large maps on the wall. “Of many more of these across Narnia, in all the important places, to remember our history and our community—even after we’re long gone.”
“I don’t doubt you’ll achieve it,” Hulmik said. “Beaversdam, Beruna, the Stone Table, Cair Paravel…”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she smacked their arm, but Hulmik could tell she was overjoyed at the idea. “Well, you know I’ll still need your agency’s help to fill this burrow up. If we ever get that far, it’ll be together.”
Hulmik smiled. “I have something for you,” they said, pulling out a carefully-wrapped little package from their pocket.
“For me?” Dandelion’s eyes widened, and she gently grasped the wrapping paper, pulling it open with delight. “Oh, Hulmik—it’s lovely.”
“I know Rabbits don’t have much use for this sort of thing. But I think it’s the right size, and it doesn’t jingle as much as most Dwarf jewelry.” Their smile widened. “It’s a symbol.”
“I love it,” she said, slipping the fine necklace over her ears and around her neck. The tiny pendant was in the shape of a lion’s footprint—and in the middle, side by side, the two much smaller footprints of a Dwarf and a Rabbit.
“That’s the thing about Narnians,” Hulmik’s grandmother used to say, usually after a long night of sitting by the fire, laughing and sharing stories—whether it was in the days before the Witch, or in the secret festivities deep in the mountains, during the Long Winter. “We always find a way.”
