The sunrise is soft on the horizon as we reach a cliff edge looking out over the terrain. The beavers had us up and walking before dawn, not wanting to stay put anywhere for too long. I'd had perhaps a few hours of fitful sleep, and for a reason I couldn't explain, I had been acutely aware of Peter's presence beside me. Even now, as I walk a few paces behind him, I can't help but notice the way the sunlight gilds his hair or the strong set of his shoulders.

What's wrong with me?

Our group stops, and I gaze at a sight I've never seen before. I had never walked this far before and to see the great frozen river at sunrise, to see all the way to the southern coast, it's breathtaking.

"Now, Aslan's camp is near the stone table, just across the frozen river." Mr. Beaver explains.

"River?" Peter asks sceptically.

"I hear the river's been frozen for a hundred years." I offer breathlessly.

"The river hasn't flowed since the witch began the endless winter." Mrs. Beaver explains.

"But it's so far." Peter sighs.

"It's the world, dear. Did you expect it to be small?" Mrs. Beaver smiles softly.

If only they knew how wide this world truly was. If only they knew what lay across the sea to the south.

We set off down the mountain to a great plain. Now, this was dangerous; we had to make it from one side to the other without any cover and without being spotted.

The Beavers move quickly on four legs, light enough to hardly make a dent in the snow. I can tell the Pevensies aren't used to walking so far in the snow, and their steps seem laborious as we continue our trek. I'm not as quick as the beavers, but I keep pace ahead of the humans.

Mr. Beaver pesters the group to hurry more than once, humour clear in his voice.

I hear Peter pipe up, "If he tells us to hurry up one more time, I'm going to turn him into a big, fluffy hat."

I look back with a laugh as Peter hoists Lucy onto his back. He looks up at me, flicking the hair out of his eyes and grins. I smile back but quickly turn my head as I feel a blush creep onto my cheeks.

Mr. Beaver hurries us again and I can't help but roll my eyes until Mrs. Beaver cries out, "No! Behind you, it's her!"

I snap my head back sharply, only for a moment, before stumbling forward into a run. I can hear the Pevensies break into a run behind me, Lucy crying out in fear. The Beavers are shouting, and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as my feet beat the frozen earth.

I knew this was dangerous, I knew it was a risk but this couldn't be the end. It couldn't end this way.

I knew Jadis' reindeer, they're quick as lightning when pushed. I know she's closing in, and my stomach flips with nausea. The treeline rears up to meet us, and the beavers keep running deeper into the woods.

Suddenly Mr. Beaver makes a sharp turn and disappears. I follow quickly and press myself into the tiny alcove they've found. The snow bank is well camouflaged. I can only hope well enough. Peter, Susan and Lucy barrel in behind me, pressing in close.

Perhaps sheer terror is written on my face because Peter, keeping one arm wrapped around his youngest sister, clasps my hand firmly. I look down at our entwined fingers and then back at him, wondering if he felt the same little spark I did.

Not the time for delusions.

I reprimand myself but squeeze his hand in return. Our collective breathing sounds too loud in my ears. Too harsh. Too noticeable.

A shadow is cast onto the snow in front of our hiding spot. I clasp a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp. The witch stands just atop our hiding spot.

I count the seconds as the shadow remains stark against the gleaming snow, turning back and forth. Searching and scanning. Finally, she wanders off, my breath is still caught in my throat, but something about her shadow gives me pause.

Something was off about it.

My knuckles are white as I grip Peter's hand. He looks at me, and I can see how terrified he is, but there's something else there, too. I don't think he's afraid for himself but for the sisters pressed beside him.

In his face I see another I haven't seen in a long time.

He looks like Eroan, the day Jadis ripped me from my family. In all this time, I've tried to picture my eldest brother, and my stomach twists at the reminder of what I've lost.

"Perhaps I'll go look." Peter whispers, moving to stand.

I jerk him back, "Please, Peter, don't be a fool."

"She's right," Mr. Beaver whispers, "You're worth nothing to Narnia dead."

"Neither are you, Beaver." Mrs. Beaver implores.

Mr Beaver pats his wife's paw but shrugs her off, creeping out from the hiding spot.

I shake my head in fear, but he motions for us to stay down.

We sit in a tense silence that stretches on and on, flinching at each tiny sound. Mrs. Beaver rings her paws nervously and Peter pulls Lucy in closer. I hear a shuffle before Mr. Beaver appears above us, Lucy shrieks while the rest of us flinch. My heart races a million miles an hour.

"Come 'ere, come 'ere." He calls excitedly. "I hope you've all been good because there's someone here to see ya!"

I look at Peter confusedly, but he goes to move out of the small space.

"Wait, it could be a trick." I hiss.

"We have to trust him." Peter whispers.

He clambers out with the rest of us close on his heels. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the bright sunlight.

The first thing I notice is the sleigh, and my gait falters, but as my eyes travel, I realise the owner is most certainly not the witch.

The man standing next to the sleigh is large, his deep red coat adorned with gold trimmings. His face is ruddy, and a soft white beard frames his wide smile.

The man laughs jovially, and Lucy runs towards him.

"Merry Christmas, sir." She grins.

"It certainly is, Lucy, now that you've arrived." He replies, his eyes crinkling warmly.

Susan mutters something under her breath, and the group walks closer. I hang back, unsure exactly what's going on.

"We thought you were the witch." Peter explains, almost chuckling.

"Yes, well, my sincerest apologies about that, but in my defence, I've been driving one of these," He motions to the large sleigh, "far longer than the witch."

"I thought there was no Christmas in Narnia?" Susan asks slyly.

I feel horribly out of place; this strange man seems known to them, and they talk of something I've never heard of before. The man offers some reply I don't quite catch before reaching into the back of the sleigh and pulling off a large velvet sack.

"Presents!" Lucy exclaims.

The man laughs again and pulls forth a small bottle. He offers it to the girl, "Juice of the fire flower, one drop will cure any injury."

How on earth did he get his hands on that?

I knew of fire-flowers in my homeland, but surely they could not grow here in Narnia. The man also offers to the youngest Pevensie a small dagger, sheathed and with a belt to hold both the gifts.

Even he knows what these children are up against.

"Remember, child, battles are ugly affairs." He reaches back into the sack. "Susan, trust in this bow, and it will not easily miss."

Susan takes the weapon apprehensively, "What happened to, battles are ugly affairs?"

Even I laugh lowly along with the old man. He presents her next with a horn, one that will bring help wherever she may be.

He turns to Peter last, "Peter, the time to use these may be near at hand."

The silver shield is nearly blinding in the light, but it is the sword that catches my attention. The pommel is intricately carved gold, shaped like the head of a lion, and when Peter pulls the blade from the sheath, I can hear the metal sing.

Even my father's favoured sword was not as fine as the one Peter now wields, Peter's voice is reverent as he thanks the man.

I expected the stranger to sling the sack back into the sleigh and depart, but nothing about any of this was going how I expected.

"Cressida?" The man asks.

I suck in a breath, "How...how do you know my name?"

"Come here, child." He beckons.

I force my feet to move until I stand in line with the others.

"I am sorry, sir, if I am meant to know who you are, I am afraid I do not."

"No, Cressida, I don't expect you would. I am not a favourite of the witch." He laughs. "I go by many names, Father Christmas, Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas, you would now me as Aquilo."

I quickly drop to one knee, "Lord Aquilo, forgive me; I did not know."

I had not heard the name Aquilo since I was six, at the last abundance festival I attended before I was taken. When everyone would exchange gifts, and if you were lucky, Aquilo, the god of the North Wind, would leave you something special on your doorstep.

"Stand, child, please; how could you have known? Here, I have gifts for you as well. Step aside with me."

The Pevensies are distracted, inspecting their gifts as Aquilo pulls me to the side.

"I had always thought you just an old wives tale."

"Yes, my dear, many do. In your lands, I abide over the abundance festival as Aquilo, and in Narnia and in the world of those children, I am Father Christmas."

"They really come from another world?"

"Yes another world war torn and in chaos. They were sent away to escape a war and have stumbled upon another."

"Can they really save the Narnians, my lord?" I ask hopefully.

"There," he smiles, "that gleam in your eye tells me you have hope that they can. I am only here because of the hope they bring."

"What does hope have to do with it, sir?"

"Jadis' magic thrives on fear, and hope is weakening her. Already you had enough hope in these children to free yourself from her clutches."

"Yes, I suppose you're-" I catch myself quickly with a cough, "You are, right."

"Here, your gifts." He stretches out his large hand.

Laying in his palms are two gold cuffs, each set with a gorgeous blue stone. The gems seem to swirl and thrum with life.

"These are from Aureum!" I exclaim.

"Yes, child, I'm glad you recognise them." He laughs. "Stones from your homeland to help channel your magic."

"Channel my magic?"

"You will need all the strength of that magic to aid the kings and queens in this war." He explains. "Now here, there is also this."

He holds out a thin golden chain, hanging from it a tiny blue stone. The blue is much deeper than that of the crystals in the bracelets. I turn, and he fastens the clasp around my neck.

"A good luck charm?" I ask.

He shakes his head grimly. "I pray you will never be faced with any reason to use this, but within the capsule is a few drops from the eternal spring."

I stumble backwards, "How do you..."

"It doesn't matter how it came to be in my possession, but it is yours; it only has enough to reverse death once. Protect it always."

"I will, sir." I nod.

He begins to guide me back towards the others, "And your highness, you don't have to put on the perfection act, I think you have finally found what you might consider friends."

His words strike me. I know he's right. Surely, by now, I can trust these humans; surely, I don't have to keep up the façade forever.

"These are tools, not toys. Bear them well and wisely. Now, I must be off. Winter is almost over, and things do pile up when you've been gone a hundred years. Long live Aslan!" He flicks the reins, "And Merry Christmas!"

The Beavers call excitedly after him, waving goodbye. I tentatively trace the intricate carvings of the bracelets now circling my wrists.

"That was extraordinary." I say as Peter walks towards me.

"I know," he sighs, "but he said winter was almost over. You know what that means."

I look at him quizzically as the others join us.

"No more ice."