View Flat HTML
View Metadata
Search Post
Isabella falls from her horse first, caught by a low branch she didn't see. She's a better rider than that, she ought to have - ow - she reaches for Jamie, grabs her hand, but while they clasp hands Isabella's got too much momentum and Jamie falls too -
Something snags Isabella's cloak, something snags her bag, she's got a heap of pine needles prickling her face and can't see. She flails a leg but only loses her shoe for her trouble, and the other slips off when she twists, trying to find 'up' before her horse steps on her - when did it get this dim, the sun was only just setting a moment ago - she can't see anything - "Jamie -"
The next time she inhales it's not the smell of pine needles, it's old fur. Not the hay-sweet shallow pile of having somehow planted her nose in her horse's flank; like a coat. Smell jogs memory. Coats - and wood, not the pines but old treated planks -
She's lost Jamie's hand somewhere along the line. She was wearing gloves against the cold and her hand's bare on fur, on wood.
She feels dizzy and small and something's gone wrong with her clothes and she can't hear the horse breathing or feel the wind anymore.
She fumbles around in the dark, looking for Jamie, the horse, a tree, anything.
She finds a shoulder, too small and skinny to be Jamie's, and then with her other hand she finds a door and blinding light and tumbles out of the wardrobe onto the floor.
+ Show First Post
deepest_magic
deepest_magic
"It really is. Dad, if you are concerned about the thing I think you are concerned about I don't expect it to come up for like four years minimum."
deepest_magic
Yeeeeeep.
"...so, I think I will probably tell Renée too," says Isabella, "and I will probably attend at least a partial year of school to reacclimate in a relatively low-stakes way to having to act like a ten-year-old American, but now you know what's going on if I accidentally talk in a vaguely British accent or don't remember how to operate a microwave or something."
"...so, I think I will probably tell Renée too," says Isabella, "and I will probably attend at least a partial year of school to reacclimate in a relatively low-stakes way to having to act like a ten-year-old American, but now you know what's going on if I accidentally talk in a vaguely British accent or don't remember how to operate a microwave or something."
neverbeatme
James observes that she has the urge to tell Charlie he's holding up pretty well, and then observes that she feels like telling him that principally because he isn't holding up as well as Chris did and so his basically adequate reaction feels more impressive because it seems less effortless.
sundayfish
Charlie looks down at the notebook in his hands. "Can I - are there more pictures?"
deepest_magic
"Yeah," she says, "but it has infinite pages, it's kind of a trick to find some of them, here -" And she takes the notebook back and finds more pictures. Scenery and creatures and historic events and their wedding.
deepest_magic
Eventually Bella runs out of pictures to display. "...I'm very hungry," she observes.
sundayfish
"I've got food." He glances at Chris and Elizabeth. "You want to stay for dinner?"
deepest_magic
It is not particularly Narnian, but Isabella puts some of most of the things on at least one of the two sandwiches she makes and reacquaints herself with the contents of a delicatessen.
neverbeatme
James sits near Isabella and eats food and is quiet. She is not used to feeling this kind of uncertainty, and she does not like it one bit.
neverbeatme
...She smiles, suddenly and brightly. Okay. All is not lost.
"Thanks," she murmurs.
"Thanks," she murmurs.
deepest_magic
"You're welcome."
There is sandwich. There is storebought sugar cookies.
There is sandwich. There is storebought sugar cookies.
Here Ends This Thread