"Thee silly," she says, soft and warm and gentle. Susan reaches out to take Lucy's hand in her own, squeezing it tightly. "The Lion himself said it, do'ee not ken?"

(it is always right to love)

"It's like with Deborah, I wot." Susan shrugs, and a gentle breeze tousles the golden hair, whispering between trees and over the noise of the little stream.

"I met her, did'ee kennit? Caspian introduced us, before. She's very dear."