It was a warm summer night with breezes smelling of oak leaves and apples. Humple the faun lay on his back, partially under a giant apple tree, and gazed at the stars dancing above his head. On this particular night, the sight was breathtaking. He could see the bright points of light moving in and out, glinting and shimmering as they weaved around one another. Never before had the dance of the stars been visible to the wood creatures. Well, Mythrious the centaur would be full of news the next morning. Like all centaurs, Mythrious was wise, grave, and proud, and studied the skies for signs and messages. This awesome stirring up of the night sky would keep the old centaur up all night. Humple couldn’t even find the familiar constellations: the Ship, the Hammer, and the Leopard. Everything was jumbled in magnificent brilliance.
A breeze came past, playing with Humple’s curls and brushing leaves against his nose. With a yawn, the faun sat up and rubbed his eyes. It seemed almost unusually dark after taking in the beauty above. In fact, he could hardly see past the tree he sat beneath. The silver apples which hung from the branches peeped out at him with fascinating golds and reds and blues. It was the only apple tree in this part of the country and it was Humple’s turn to keep watch under it. His father and his father’s father had been Guardians of the Tree and Humple hoped his own son, Tumnus, would someday learn to guard it faithfully. This tree was the only thing that protected their land from the Evil. What was the Evil? No one seemed to know or remember.
Another breeze shot by him, bringing more leaves to swirl around his hooves. It seemed colder and more pointed and left a sting in his eyes. He adjusted his blue scarf a little more firmly around his neck and peered into the darkness. Something was around him.
The sky grew dark. It drew an inky velvet curtain over itself while the stars seemed to clothe themselves in black cloaks. The air grew thin and sharp. Humple’s breath caught in his throat and he choked as his eyes watered. What was happening? Somehow, though he couldn’t see a threat, he could feel it. The faun groped for his small dagger hanging around his neck under his scarf and clutched at the handle nervously.
A twig snapped, a leaf rustled, and all was still again. It seemed to be hours to Humple as he waited, unable to see an inch in front of him, with his back pressed against the smooth bark of the Tree of Protection.
The sound of a flint striking stone broke the stillness and then a torch blazed up a few feet in front of him. A large dwarf with rough red hair stood there, holding the torch in one hand and an axe in the other. Behind him were three other dwarfs, two with black hair and one with gray. They all held axes and their eyes seemed to glow with hatred and malice, and when they saw Humple they fell on him without a word. Humple barely had time to raise his knife before he was knocked to the ground and left in a heap, stunned and shaken. The dwarves were all busy about the Tree. After a few minutes of quiet murmuring they all seemed to agree on something so they spread out around the tree. The next moment the faun heard a noise that made his heart stop. The sound of an axe against wood.
With a cry of rage, Humple tried to rise, his dagger clenched in his hand. But the gray dwarf silenced him with a blow on the head. Everything went dark.
* * * *
When Humple woke, the sun was rising. Within seconds, he felt that something was wrong. His vision was blurry and his horns hurt like nothing he’d ever felt, but that wasn’t what concerned him most. The troubling thing was the wind. It was biting and cold, and the rising sun didn’t seem to give warmth to the frigid air. All around him, the green bushes and trees were coated in a shining film of clear glass, and the grass didn’t bend in the wind. It glittered cold and stiff. A frost in the middle of summer? Impossible. Utterly impossible. And then with a stab of agony he saw the stump. It was iced over and looked dead and gray. The Tree of Protection was nowhere to be seen. He had failed and despair seemed to settle over him. He sat, head in his hands, the tears freezing on his cheeks.
It was the frigid wind that finally roused him. He should go home. Go and tell his wife and little son about what had happened. Go and warn all of Narnia that the Tree was cut, and he was to blame. It seemed more than he could bear. But no, he would tell his fellow Narnians of his failure. And then he would rally them and find the dwarves who used their axes for destruction. They would destroy those who had destroyed Narnia’s safety.
The jingle of bells in the distance made him get to his feet and listen. Something was moving toward him at a rapid pace, and he was alone. He must flee. With one last look at the stump, Humple turned and pattered off, his hooves making a hollow sound on the ice. And as he disappeared into the trees, a snowflake floated down gently and silently and landed on the stump.
Love,
Hannah Jo <3
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