Sabrina's POV – 11 years later
Song: Only the beginning of the Adventure, Narnia Soundtrack

Sabrina stepped off the platform and took a deep breath. The sweet country air filled her lungs. As she exhaled she imagined ridding herself of the stale smoggy air of the city. She smiled. It always felt like coming home. She was even more excited because this was her first trip here on the train by herself.

She had friends that traveled on the train by themselves at a far younger age than 13, but Auntie Sue didn't like trains and she supposed she shouldn't either. Except there was such a sense of adventure boarding a train. What if she were to ride the train until it ended? What would be waiting there for her?

She smiled to herself. Auntie Sue would say she was wool-gathering again. Swinging her suitcase she made her way down the road toward the center of the village called Sway. There was the gift shop that had wonderful treasures in it, and the bakery which always smelled heavenly. The flowers were blooming so nicely this spring. They hung from the street lamps and shop window baskets. She loved beautiful things.

She herself was beautiful, though she didn't know it. Tall for her age, her movements were graceful and confident. Her long blond hair blew in the breeze and her bright blue eyes took in every site as if she wanted to remember each detail.

"Well, there you are!"

A voice boomed beside her breaking into her thoughts.

"Papa!" she exclaimed as strong arms lifted her up into a huge hug.

"It is good to see you," her Grandfather said putting her back on the ground. "Wait. Where's Susan?" he looked around in confusion.

Her laugh tinkled gaily. "Uncle Denny fell off a ladder yesterday and broke his ankle. Susan had to stay and take care of him so she let me come on my own. You should have seen her fussing at him for even being on the ladder in the first place."

"Hmm," was the gruff response she received.

"Oh Papa!" she said laughing again, as she threaded her arm through his and started walking toward her grandparent's home.

"I'm 13 now, and this is my school break. I only have a week, I had to come. I've missed you all so much!"

The big man, Manfred Treed, stopped walking and looked down on the granddaughter that he loved and couldn't help but smile.

"You have grown so much this last year. You look....just as your mother did at this age."

Sabrina's face softened as she looked at his wistful face. She couldn't remember her mother really, just impressions and snippets of a loving and laughing form bending over her. Sometimes in her dreams, she would see them, her mother and father in the kitchen, or remember what it felt like to be cuddled up together with both of their arms around her and each other. But then she would wake up and try to get the memories to truly form but they wouldn't. She had been much too young when the accident happened.

Sometimes it was hard to visit here and hear the stories about her Mum from her grandparents and her Aunt Elisa who married a farmer and lived in the next village over.

"Well," she shook the sad thoughts away. "It's wonderful to be here!"

They walked swiftly to the little cottage still surrounded by flowers and beautiful green leafy things. Her Gran was truly gifted in that way.

Miranda was waiting on the porch having heard the train come in.

"Oh! There's my girl."

She enveloped Sabrina in a hug that felt like home. Gran always smelled like cinnamon and she guessed that her favorite apple pie was in the oven.

"Come on in, let's get you settled."

~~0~~

"Gran? Will you tell me again how my parents met?"

She was working in the kitchen the next morning kneading the bread dough while Miranda marinated the roast for their dinner.

"You love that story. I think you ask me every time you visit. You know I only have a few details of those first few months."

"I know. It just helps to hear it. I also like the stories of my Dad and Papa from that first visit."

"Oh my!" said Miranda laughing, "I'll never forget the look on Peter's face when he had to go out to the shed and talk to Manfred. Things were different back then. Your grandfather was different."

Sabrina smiled. "I'd like to look at the book today."

"Sure, honey. You know where to find it. Why don't you go on now? That dough is ready to be set to rise."

Sabrina washed her hands and hung her apron on the nearby hook. She wandered into the front room and paused to look at the pictures on the wall. Narnia. At least that's what the book said. Her grandmother said the paintings were from there as well. Last summer Gran had given her the journal from her Great Grandmother. That had more answers in it, but the whole of it was hard to believe. When she asked her Aunt Susan all she got was a look of confusion and the honest answer of 'I don't really know. I thought they were just stories, but sometimes I wonder.'

Eventually, Sabrina stopped asking Susan about her family and Narnia. She had been a wonderful parent to her. She couldn't have asked for a better one really. Susan had married Dennis Struthers when Sabrina was eight years old and Susan and Denny were mother and father to her. Denny was always full of laughter and fun. After meeting him Susan lost some of the sadness that she tried so hard to hide from Sabrina. It still pained Susan to talk about her family. How uncanny that Susan's parents along with her three siblings and Sabrina's mother had all been killed in the same train crash.

She grew melancholy looking at the Narnian painting of lush fields she knew was called the Fords of Beruna. A not unfamiliar sense of longing flooded through her.

"Gran?" she called, moving over to the second painting.

"Yes, April? Oh, I'm sorry. I did it again. You sound just like her." The voice grew closer as Miranda entered the room wiping the flour from her hands on her apron.

"What did you need?"

"Oh, I was just wondering what this place was called again."

"Ah, yes, I never knew until your father came for that first visit. Peter called it the River Rush gorge."

"Did you ever see it?"

"Heavens, no, my child. It would have terrified me to be in Narnia. But every time your father looked at it or the book his face would almost transform. It was as if just looking at it made him feel differently."

Sabrina nodded, not wanting to tell her about the things she herself felt when she looked at the beautiful painting. Right now she felt as if she were standing on one of the edges of the ravines. An involuntary shiver passed through her.

"Cold, sweetie?" Miranda rubbed a hand over her back. "Go and get some air. The sun is warm out there today."

Sabrina brightened. The forest was just what she needed. Kissing her Gran on the cheek she walked through the kitchen and out the back door. She crossed through the lavish garden and skipped across the little bridge her Papa always kept in good repair for her visits.

It was a glorious spring day. The sky was blue and the birds were singing so loudly. She was sure they were glad it was spring after an unseasonably cold winter. She wandered the path through the forest she was the most familiar with. Her grandmother had walked these paths with her for as long as she could remember. She would tell her which trees were oak, ash, or birch. She would talk about the trees almost wistfully, which was weird to Sabrina.

She came to the end of the path and was about to turn around when she noticed a squirrel hopping through the underbrush. She smiled and clicked her tongue at him. He stopped, sat up and stared at her for a moment and then bounded under a bush and up a tree. She stepped closer to the tree but the squirrel had disappeared.

She leaned against the rough bark and stared into the forest. Her eyes focused on a path she hadn't noticed before. It was faint, the ivy and flowers had grown over it almost completely. It was blocked by the bush that the squirrel had darted under but otherwise was clear.

"How odd," she said then blushed at speaking only to the air.

A strange sensation swept over her and it seemed even the birds quieted. She glanced at her watch. It was still early, she could follow this new path to see where it led. Her heart began to beat a little faster at the thought of an adventure and she gently skirted around the bush onto the old path.

She followed it moving more deeply into the forest. It was darker and cooler here but in a refreshing way. It felt good to be alive and around growing things. Following the path around a corner the forest opened up a bit and she stopped. There was a curious copse of birch trees arranged almost in a circle. She stepped close, a sense of excitement filling her. Growing on one side of the area was a beautiful bush that she recognized from her Grandmother's garden. How strange that it should be here.

She stepped into the circle and felt the forest still and grow silent around her. It was eerie yet a breeze was blowing in the upper branches, she could hear the whisper of the leaves. She walked up softly to the largest tree and touched it gently remembering what Miranda had told her about the birch trees. A leaf floated down. She picked it up and turned around slowly wondering if she should leave when a soft breeze blew lifting her skirt and fluffing the hair around her face.

She felt the oddest sense of peace, then joy. A deep voice whispered and filled her mind. Chills ran down her spine. She wondered if she was hearing things but the forest was silent. She listened intently suddenly feeling as if she had been waiting for this her whole life. Then she heard it again.

"Sabrina...beloved daughter of the High King..."

Dear Reader, Thank you for traveling with me on my Narnian journey. For this is, as C.S. Lewis so eloquently put it, is just the cover and title page of Peter and April's story. I appreciate your reading these books. It has been an amazing 4 ½ years. I sincerely hope that reading them has brought you a fraction of the joy that writing them has infused into my life. Narnia will always have a special place in my heart. As you may have noticed I have left room for more. To tell Sabina, the dryad's story would be fascinating. Edmund and Susan also have a depth to them that cannot be done justice in a book about Peter and his love. That is the beauty of fan fiction. Endless story options and countless delights... just beware of the Turkish kind. Long live High King Peter and may Aslan reign supreme in your heart and minds. Sincerely, Nicole.