Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
▬▬ι══════༻❁༺══════ι▬▬
"WOULD YOU like some soup, child?"
I look up from fiddling with the sleeve of the dress I've been lent and offer the badger a polite smile. "No, thank you. My appetite is quite small with this headache."
"Ah, but this will help!" He insists, holding out the small bowl.
Internalizing my sigh, I accept the soup from Trufflehunter with a grateful nod. He spent all morning preparing enough food for me and Caspian, much to Nikabrik's annoyance. I spent that time trying to convince them of the prince's importance to the Narnian cause. Trufflehunter readily believes me, while his companion does not, vehemently insisting that they kill him instead.
Despite my pounding headache, I manage to empty the bowl in record time, my growling stomach betraying my hunger. I place the emptied bowl on the table, complimenting the badger's cooking before excusing myself to go check on Caspian. Being hit on the head twice, it's no wonder his recovery is taking longer than mine.
I sit on the corner of the small bed Caspian's unconscious figure rests upon, the low whispers of Nikabrik and Trufflehunter's conversation still reaching my ears. The dwarf's opinion remains unswayed: he wants Caspian dead.
With a quiet sigh, I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees, my face in my hands. Even though I slept until after sunrise, I feel exhausted. My bones and muscles ache, and my whole body is tender with the bruises I acquired the previous night.
Caspian makes a quiet noise, causing me to look up. His eyebrows furrow as if in pain and then he tenses, eyes shooting open in a panic. He sits up, staring at me in wide-eyed confusion.
"Who are you?" He asks. "Where am I? What happened?"
Of course he doesn't recognize me.
I hold my hand out in a calming manner. "Caspian," I murmur in my fake Telmarine accent. "It's me."
I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the wave of pain as I change my appearance, trading my wavy red tresses for dark brown, softening the angles of my face, enlarging my nose and exchanging my freckles for caramel skin.
Startled, Caspian lurches from the bed in search of his sword. "Shapeshifter!" He cries angrily. "Who are you!? What have you done to Sefi!?"
"It is me, imbecile!" I hiss. "We grew up reading the old tales together in my father's library, your favourite is the Battle of Beruna and mine is the Russet Sea Hawk."
Caspian's fear ebbs away and his eyes narrow slightly, analyzing my appearance for evidence of any trickery.
I continue. "Every maths lesson we would put oil in my father's inkpot and he'd pretend not to notice because it always made us laugh. And you once tried talking to a beaver because you wanted to be like the Old Kings."
