@adventurecalled continued from X
There's a grimness now overshadowing everything. Not even the consideration of a holiday from school could dispel such thick, nearly impenetrable, gloom. She still has time before boarding the train, so she terries at the magazine stand. There's one in particular that grabs her attention. The Macready had organized a shoot at the professor's place, boasting of his considerable antiquated holdings and showcasing his more famous collections.
Cerulean eyes practically devour the words with voracious appetite. She can NOT help but search EVERY picture intently. Had anyone else discovered their beloved LAND? And as Susan turns the next page, a raucous NOISE startles her. It's a blaring blast of a car horn warning some bubbleheaded jaywalker to be more attentive. It heralds a brief and rather annoyed glance before her gaze returns to the article.
There, ushered upon the next whirling, rain-drenched breeze is a FAMILIAR timbre. One, she almost believed that she had IMAGINED. "Caspian?" The name escapes quivering lips hushed, in the form of a prayer. The paper she had been reading, from the news stand is promptly discarded and she blinds, dispelling every ounce of disbelief from her form.
As if her utterance had summoned him, the way her horn had brought the Pevensie children back to Narnia, he appears on the steps below her. What fortune had rendered him present? Was she awake? Or dreaming?
The first few inches forwards are tread with caution and a glance is spared towards all the onlookers. Onlookers who, were seeing his manifestation TOO. Therefore, he MUST be every bit as REAL as she is.
The pronouncement of Narnia's peril propels her out of a state of shock and into motion. Her suitcase is abandoned beside an overeager want-to-be suitor. One who she told, her name was Phyllis. The stairs are hastily descended two so that she may reach his side in less than a breath of time.
Not wishing for the onlookers to believe she is quite mad, for Narnia to them, did NOT exist, Susan threw her arms around him in reckless abandon. "Caspian, I've missed you!!!" Careful fingers thread through his glorious crown of dark-hair. It is HIM. He was every bit as WONDERFUL as she remembered. The affectionate embrace is but a cover to shield him from harsh Londoner's scrutiny.
Then, without missing more than a few heartbeats, she begins to ask questions. "How--? How did you get here? How did you even find me?" Those topped her list, promptly followed by, "what is it? What has happened to Narnia?"
