Wimbleweather looks slowly around and then down, scanning the ground for the source of the voice. "Greetings, Daughter of Eve," he says, in his rumbling voice, each word ponderous and deliberate.

The Bear stops his scratching and squints nearsightedly at them, then gets up and lumbers over. "It isn't," it says, in a growly voice. "Oh, it is. Good day, sire. Have you seen any beehives on your way?"

"Good day, my friends," Caspian laughs. "I'm afraid not, good Bear. But this is my dear friend, Susan. Won't you make her welcome?"

"Yes, of course," the Bear responds. "Only will you check? About the hives? These apples would be just right with a bit of honey."