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Caspian stood to stretch his legs, still sore from a day of riding and none too eager to mount Destrier again for the trip back to the castle.
Not that he wouldn't have relished any other free day in the countryside with his beloved steed, but these trips with Miraz and the Captain of the Hunt and the usual handful of other Lords tended to feel both grueling and unrewarding to the boy who would so much rather have observed nature than shot at it.
His soft leather boots moved soundlessly over the leaf-strewn undergrowth of the clearing they'd made their resting point, skirting the edge of the treeline as the dull noise of overlapping conversation permeated the crisp air—his uncle's voice rumbling several yards away with two of the older men, Drinian's bark of a laugh close behind him where he'd just passed the group of Lords’ sons, the Captain's husky tones retelling some old and most certainly exaggerated hunting story.
Caspian nibbled his last leg of wild turkey, picking it clean and sucking on the knobbly end of the bone as his free fingers trailed the smooth bark of a beech tree, gazing up into the rippling yellow canopy where the breeze played as if with the soft rush of a river, sending the occasional stray leaf fluttering down around him to rest in the grass or catch on a tangle of roots.
He tossed the bone into the brush.
Something moved at the edge of his vision and he glanced sharply up to the crook of a sturdy branch, nothing but an innocuous knot in the bark meeting his gaze.
Had he imagined it?
He scanned the length of the upper branches, seeking he knew not what, but already that old familiar feeling had settled in his chest as it so often did in the depths of the forest where once had burned a lamp that never went out: the feeling that their little human hunting party was not completely alone.
A mere fancy, his uncle would have said—and had indeed said when he was still young enough to make the mistake of speaking these feelings aloud.
But somehow it never felt like fancy. Not out here, where it was only too easy to imagine little woodland creatures popping up from their burrows in proper waistcoats and tiny hats to wish you a good afternoon. Not out here, where he so often felt that the trees didn't always move in complete obedience to the wind.
Almost before he realized what he was doing, he'd strayed from his path and turned between two strong trunks into the thick of the forest, gazing up as yellows blended with reds and the occasional sprig of evergreen, scanning each branch for any sign of movement, boots finding their way unthinking over roots and brush.
For a moment his wits caught up to him long enough to cast a glance back over his shoulder, but already the clearing had vanished beyond the shroud of slender birches and solid oaks, mottled shadows dancing around him as a rush of breeze sent a shower of leaves fluttering down around him like a scarlet snow globe.
A quiver in the branches overhead caught his attention again, and he turned to follow in the direction from which it seemed to have come, the muffled hum of men's voices fading into the background of his awareness as he moved breathlessly among patches of filtering golden sunlight.
He wasn't even sure what he expected to find, but somehow he always did expect something. A spirit of the wood, perhaps peeking out from between shivering leaves, some creature peering down from the tangled branches overhead, some manifestation of the feeling that thrilled in his chest as fauns and beavers and little queens from distant worlds played through his head.
The colorful images in his Professor's largest and oldest books came to him in perfect clarity, memorized over so many quiet afternoons in the old man's study, the mere thought of them even more tantalizing now than the feel of the ancient pages under his gentle fingers.
Never had he caught so much as a twig out of place, yet always it seemed like one step further would carry him to that perfect spot—that perfect moment, that single glimpse of something beyond the ordinary wood, as if it were teeming with extraordinary life just out of sight.
Another slight rustle a few yards away drew him further, tall green fronds parting under his touch, creeping as if through a dream, before a sharp snap behind him shattered the illusion and he spun abruptly to face Drinian.
He breathed a sigh of mingled frustration and relief. “Oh, it's only you.”
The boy raised a dark brow, his straight lips quirking halfway into a smirk at the lackluster greeting.
He stood several inches taller than Caspian, already looking more like a man than a boy with his hunting bow strapped to his back and the ghost of stubble along his jaw, but the twinkle in his dark eyes set him apart from the rest of the older boys, and often got him mistaken for Caspian's brother when the two went down to the town at Beaversdam where fewer people knew the Prince on sight.
"What are we sneaking up on?"
Caspian glanced over his shoulder, but glimpsed nothing out of the ordinary in the perfectly mundane shadows, the feeling of impending magic vanishing just as quickly as it had come. He sighed again. "Nothing."
Drinian crossed his arms, waiting for a real answer.
“I really do mean nothing,” muttered Caspian, less dismissively this time. “It's just… well, you know, this place used to be magical.”
Drinian glanced around the wood, so thick it had already cut off any hint of noise from their campsite, flooded with birdsong and the noise of insects and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. “You're not going to find anything out here, Cas, our people have been hunting this strip for centuries.”
He didn't say it cruelly, or even with the exasperation one might have expected after years as Caspian's only confidant. In fact, he usually didn't even bother contradict the younger boy’s stories, especially if they strayed into the subject of the sea. His tone was merely one of practicality, and Caspian couldn't contradict him.
“I know, but…” The rest of his pointless argument hung in the air, all the foolish, childish hopes that simple logic seemed so intent on quelling. Still, it had never quite succeeded. “It's nice to imagine, anyway.”
Before Drinian could respond, another branch crashed behind them and Caspian knew the Captain of the Hunt by the gruffness of his voice even before he ducked into view.
“Boys?”
“Here, sir,” said Drinian automatically, spinning to face him at rigid attention as the tall and brawny man scanned them with piercing eyes.
“I expect you have a very good reason for wandering off?”
“We were just—” Drinian hesitated for an instant, and Caspian recognized the moment of danger, casting about quickly before bending to snatch something the size of a stone from the leaf-strewn underbrush.
“—looking for chestnuts,” he finished for the older boy. “Well, I was, Drin only came to get me.”
The man grunted and narrowed his beady black eyes at the Prince. “We’re moving on, get yourselves saddled up and don't dawdle.”
“Yes, sir,” said both boys at once, following him as he turned back to the clearing.
Caspian cast only one last longing glance over his shoulder, scanning the branches of his momentary sanctuary before pocketing the chestnut and resigning himself to the task of refilling Destrier's saddle bags, ignoring as best he could the rough and raucous chatter around him.
His uncle only shot him a sharp and distrustful glance, evidently deeming it more prudent to overlook Caspian's wandering than to draw any more attention to it at the moment. The lecture on distraction would undoubtedly come later.
“Get lost?” came the unwelcome voice of one of the older boys; Efrin—bigger and more adventurous than his father Sopespian, but no less serpentine as he rounded Caspian with his horse, the sneer practically dripping from his tone.
“Just looking around,” said Caspian simply, loading a bundle of fox pelts over the back of Destrier's saddle.
“What's there to see?” asked Amilius, close on Efrin's heels as usual, the Captain's son.
“You know he's queer in the head,” murmured the bigger boy, lowering his voice just enough to shield his words from the other men, though still perfectly audible to Caspian's ears. “He probably sees ghosts.”
Amilius giggled, and Caspian fixed his eyes studiously on the buckle with which he was struggling, refusing to look up until the jingle of a halter signaled that another horse was being led up beside Destrier, and Drinian's voice cut in.
“What's funny?”
The two boys quieted, dark eyes glancing sharply to each other as they busied themselves about their horses. A moment of awkward silence passed before Drinian pressed the question.
“Hm?”
“Nothing,” said Efrin, “I was just thinking about a joke, that's all.”
He shot Caspian a smirk before leading his mare away, Amilius a step behind him, already snickering again before they'd gone out of earshot.
Drinian rolled his eyes. “You know you're allowed to leave the castle on your own, right?”
Caspian looked at him. “What?”
Drinian shot a furtive glance over his shoulder to the men bustling about their work, then glanced to the boys who were now laughing about something on the opposite side of the clearing. “Haven't you ever considered coming out here without them?”
Caspian stared at him blankly. He couldn't imagine wanting to hunt even more than he was already forced to.
“You know,” prodded Drinian, “the next time you want to go looking for chestnuts?”
“Oh, I— well… sure, but you know how strict Miraz is about how I spend my time. I’d never get away for something as frivolous as a walk.”
The older boy smirked. “By the Conquerer, Cas, but you're thick. I meant coming out here with me. I could say I'm giving you extra practice or something.”
Caspian blinked, struck dumb for a moment. “What— really?”
“Keep your voice down,” chuckled Drinian. “You really haven't got a sensible bone in your body, have you?”
“I was sensible enough to save you from a scolding.”
“Which I wouldn't have been in danger of if you didn't wander off.”
The tiniest flicker of shame flitted through Caspian's chest, but even the discomfort of this sensation couldn’t overpower the warmth rushing through him at the thought of what Drinian was offering. “You’d really do that for me?” It was half a whisper this time. “You don’t even believe in the— Well, the chestnuts,” he amended just in time to avoid saying Old Narnians aloud.
“Don't act like I’m not getting anything out of the bargain, you think I want to be around those idiots?” Drinian's eyes flicked to Efrin and Amilius for the briefest instant as he tossed a heavy bag easily over the back of his stallion. “My father thinks they’ll make for strong connections, but what are a few Lords’ sons compared to a Prince?”
Caspian smirked. “How diplomatic.”
Of course, only Caspian knew how much deeper Drinian's resentment for the other boys truly ran—how desperately he resented his responsibilities as a Lord’s son, how eager he always was to escape under any pretense, no matter how convincing of a show he put on for the public.
Only Caspian knew that the boy whom even Miraz praised without reservation harbored secret longings of his own.
Drinian clapped him on the back. “Now, do me a favor and at least try to pretend your head isn’t in the clouds when the King’s around, will you?”
Caspian grinned sheepishly. “Alright, alright, you don't have to rub it in.”
Drinian only winked as he took his stallion's reins and moved to find his place in the assembling procession. “Chestnut’s the word, then.”
Caspian giggled in spite of himself, and Drinian shook his head with a twinkle in his eyes that could only mean he was suppressing a smile.
Someone kicked loose earth over the ashes of their little fire, and the company mounted up again, Caspian swinging himself into Destrier's saddle and finding his place near the back of the group as his uncle gave the orders.
Already his mind had wandered ahead to the possibilities of their next outing, envisioning a world of long ago that might still open up to him around any corner, if he could only look.
But Caspian never saw the red squirrel that watched him from the chestnut tree as the jingling and stamping procession moved on, wondering where in all the world a Telmarine boy had learned to use the word ‘magic.’