The braided gold of her hair almost merges with the living, darker gold of the Lion's coat. There's a faint rumbling in his chest that could almost be called a purr... if one were bold enough to suggest it. Around them, the tree-sisters are back at rest, their quiet joy and peace suffusing the garden around them.

Caspian, familiar with the Lion, takes a seat nearby, his sword close at hand but no longer in his fingers. Aslan looks down at Susan solemnly, but Caspian can see the affection in that dear face. "I have not come to preach at you, children," he tells them, and now the amusement is clear enough in his voice that Caspian suspects even the gunslingers will hear it.

"And I would not have expected Cuthbert, son of Robert, to be able to hold his tongue this long. Why this silence, gunslingers? Will you not hold palaver with me?"