The Lion's voice is deep and rich. His large paws, safely velveted, bracket Susan safely. "It is her work in the same way the splitting of a tree is the work of a wedge struck by a mallet. But who holds the mallet? Who swings it? And would the tree have fallen if the wedge had been added one stroke earlier?"
Caspian listens as the beloved voice speaks, thinking of destiny, thinking of a tempestuous hour in his cabin there at the edge of the world, when he railed against his own. "The witch tapped into something far greater than herself. You've felt it, all of you – the force that binds you together and set you on your path. She was the tipping strike, but not the hand that struck it."
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The Lion's voice is deep and rich. His large paws, safely velveted, bracket Susan safely. "It is her work in the same way the splitting of a tree is the work of a wedge struck by a mallet. But who holds the mallet? Who swings it? And would the tree have fallen if the wedge had been added one stroke earlier?"
Caspian listens as the beloved voice speaks, thinking of destiny, thinking of a tempestuous hour in his cabin there at the edge of the world, when he railed against his own. "The witch tapped into something far greater than herself. You've felt it, all of you – the force that binds you together and set you on your path. She was the tipping strike, but not the hand that struck it."