008.

                                    

                                          
	Considering everything that's just happened, Birdie is almost glad to walk alongside Peter now. It allows her to escape Susan's scornful gaze; it just happens the older Pevensie girl is, at present, rather annoyed with the two. And it is a powerful thing, to be united by a shared 'enemy'.
	Although Birdie has to admit, she doesn't quite blame her. She can't help but suspect that it's not really anger that speaks through Susan, but rather the fear of losing Lucy. As much as animals possess the ability to simply shake the stress off, humans have to struggle with its lingering consequences - it's no wonder the girl is still shaken up after believing, if just for a few moments, to have lost her little sister. It's her right, after all.
	Of course, it's not like Peter's already forgot about everything that happened by the river. When Susan stormed off to the front of their little group, dragging Lucy by the hand, Birdie was left alone with the boy. She keeps stealing glances at him from time to time and, multiple times, she catches him staring intently at the back of his little sister's head. It's as though he's promised himself not to let her out of his sight now, so as never to lose her again.
	There's a part of her that debates whether she should speak up concerning those dreadful events. It would seem natural, perhaps, to talk about it now that their breaths are back to their normal pace, but she's also afraid to do it. Unlike Susan, Peter didn't really say anything, yet there's still a possibility he might blame her for what might have happened to Lucy. Birdie's still convinced there was no other way to get out of that situation - hence her mad idea - but she worries the boy might not see it that way. Peter has already proven himself to let anger and love for his siblings cloud his judgment, so she wouldn't be that much surprised to have him blame her.
	So far, though, Peter's been awfully qui-
	"I was wondering... What was it that Father Christmas gave to you?"
	Well, so much for Peter being quiet.
	She can feel colour returning to her cheeks. Birdie suspected the others might be curious about her gift, it would only be natural, but the prospect of telling Peter the truth isn't any nicer. She still feels like a child, unhappy with her own toy and jealous of the ones her companions possess.
	"It's, um, it's stupid. Really," she says at last. She tries to keep her eyes fixed on the land ahead - the last thing she needs right now is for Peter to see how bitter she is about the whole situation. "Nothing worth talking about."
	A part of her hopes the boy might drop the subject, but he doesn't. "Still... If it doesn't matter to you that much, I would like to know. Not that it's any of my business," he says, which usually signifies quite the opposite, "but you know what the rest of us got. So I don't really understand the secrecy."
	At first, Birdie wants to respond by telling him that she doesn't care much about what he does and does not understand. But Peter can be right. Besides, perhaps talking about it could somehow lessen the disappointment.
	Still, her answer comes after a long exhale. "It's a seed. Just, you know, one plain seed. A tree, apparently, one that bears fruit. I have no idea what kind it may be, my mother would probably kno-" She stills suddenly, her mouth halfway open. 
	She's forgot herself. Internally, Birdie curses herself for her carelessness. It doesn't matter that she cannot really control her own thoughts, that it's only natural to think of her mother in connection to botany. It was bound to happen sooner or later.
	Peter clears his throat. "You don't talk about your mother a lot, do you?"
	"Neither do you," she snaps back, only to gaze at him apologetically the next second. "Sorry. I didn't really mean to... I'm usually fine about it, I just get rather bitter sometimes." She glanced at him and the boy nods, as though accepting the apology. He doesn't say anything else, no inquiry on his part, but she still adds, "She's a botanist, you know. My mother."