( it's empty in the valley of your heart )

[just]

( Edmund lets his crutches clatter to the ground without caring about the ruckus — only Susan is in the house with him, after all, and if she chooses to start a fight over it, he's ready for it. There's a restless buzzing under his skin that had always preceded battle in Narnia, the precursor of bloodshed and anger and the saccharine taste of Lucy's fireflower cordial.

Letting out a silent breath, Edmund leans back against the sofa, reveling in the quiet burn of the healing wound on his abdomen. He's thinking about the apple tree in the backyard, how its leaves have been burnished to a dusky gold. He's thinking about the sunset in Susan's hair, and how it isn't quite enough to erase the lines of weariness from her face. He's thinking about the awful casserole that Mrs. Minchen from down the street brought for their dinner.

Even looking at it had made him nauseous. )

Hungry, Susan? ( He hasn't called her Su in years, and he's not likely to start now. )

Comments

WELCOMES HIM WITH OPEN ARMS

[practicality]

Leave? [ she pulls back to look at his face, ignoring the pain brought by his hold on her wrist. the word echoes in her head, and it sounds so unfamiliar and foreign as it's something she hasn't considered before. leave? can they? should they? everything familiar to them is here, in his house, and to leave them all behind - would that not be betraying them, somehow? mum, dad, peter, lucy? practically it was sound advice, but isn't it too soon? ]

We can't just-- [ her eyes wander a bit, spotting places that bring so many memories they make her head swim and her heart ache. the hurt will fade - this she knows so well - but... ] --leave. [ the more she says it, the more it makes sense for them to do it. after all, why should they tie themselves to their painful past? besides, if they leave, no one says they can't ever return - if they want to. susan takes a deep breath, meets ed's eyes. ] Sod it all, you said? I think... I think you're right.