"Hile, Guardian," Cuthbert manages, echoed by Alain, his mouth as always running ahead of the rest of him without thought. He's glad of it, though, because all his thoughts have fallen into a spinning whirl.
They'd been ready to fight and die (again) if need be, to confront the darkness --
(all small boys born to the High Speech must face the dark alone)
--and it's hard at first to understand that this time the battle's over without the need to fire a single shot, that they've been granted an almost impossible grace.
And not just them; far from it. Cuthbert watches as Susan takes a step forward, the look in her eyes bright, and sinks into a deep curtsey, head bowed. "Hail, sai Aslan," she responds, echoing the Lion's own greeting with wonder in her soft words. "Thee are so very welcome, say true."
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They'd been ready to fight and die (again) if need be, to confront the darkness --
(all small boys born to the High Speech must face the dark alone)
--and it's hard at first to understand that this time the battle's over without the need to fire a single shot, that they've been granted an almost impossible grace.
And not just them; far from it. Cuthbert watches as Susan takes a step forward, the look in her eyes bright, and sinks into a deep curtsey, head bowed. "Hail, sai Aslan," she responds, echoing the Lion's own greeting with wonder in her soft words. "Thee are so very welcome, say true."