"We don't wish to bring trouble on you," Caspian murmurs. The magic here – growth and life and roots and the dance of seasons – is the best antidote he can think of for the horror of the Reap-Day anniversary.

He won't press, but he thinks the birch-woman is only considering, not balking. Your weapons are not necessary here, she tells Cuthbert, though not without sympathy. No harm will come. No killing frost and no flame. Bring her and be sheltered. Drink of the stream. Eat of the fruit. Sleep and be refreshed.

Caspian breathes out a slightly shaky breath and now glances at the gunslinger.