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It wasn’t uncommon for some children to come back from the country different. For boys to have become men and girls become women, hearts and minds stilled and dæmons settled. They say it is because they had to grow up faster. But the four Pevensie children came back with souls old beyond their years. They stepped off the train with purpose and elegance, people making way for them and the dæmons that came with them.
A large stag looked around the station, nostrils flared, antlers raking the air noiselessly. A boy not yet 11 reached up to lay a hand on his trembling flank. The stag paused, huffing a sigh that did not steam in the warm air. Then, collecting themselves, boy and stag fell in step together, to the left of the older boy. They walked with heads held high, calm surety in their steps that did not suit such youth.
The tail of the lioness lashed back and forth, paws thudding dully on the paving stones, flexing sharp claws against unyielding, unliving ground. The 8 year old girl beside her had to stand on her toes to reach the head of the fierce cat, pulling her close and whispering in her ear. They held each others gaze for a moment after, before the lioness shook herself. They walked side by side to the right of the older girl. Their prowling gait would speak of a wild danger, if any cared to look close enough.
A python lay draped around the shoulders of the older girl, who could have been 12, but walked with a graceful poise no 12 year old possessed. The serpents coils shifted dimly in the smokey light, dark forked tongue flickering in and out. He tasted only soot and sweat. The girls pace faltered for a moment, and the snake twisted his neck around to nestle his head beneath her chin. She lifted her head at the nudge, and they walked on, sister on the right, older brother on the left.
The eagle on the eldest’s shoulder whipped her head to and fro, eyes darting, wings flaring with only a rustle of feathers, trying to take in the hubbub around them. Her talons pierced into the boys shirt, loosening only when he brought his hand to rest on them, an anchoring touch. She stilled, but remained tense, waiting to take flight at a moments notice. His measured strides carried the weight of responsibility beyond that of an eldest brother, as he walked through the crowded station, flanked by his siblings in familiar formation.
When Helen Pevensie went to embrace her children, she was met with a wall. They swung as one to regard her, and she almost did not recognize them, nor did they seem to recognize her. Peter moved to stand a little in front of his siblings, Vigilia on his shoulder flaring her wings with a cry. Lucy and Edmund flanked beside him, Fera and Aspern standing to the outside with snarling fang and stamping hoof. Susan stood at the back, right hand going to her hip as Malachus bore his weight away from her left arm. Each motion happened simultaneously, quick as a blink, instinctual and executed with an ease that belied innumerable repetition.
In the next blink, Peter had opened his arms to embrace his mother, and Vigilia had soothed her feathers. The eagle hopped to the ground before Byron, greeting the dog dæmon warmly with small, chick-like chirps. The other children followed suit, gathering around and embracing Helen with dull chatter. The dæmons gathered around Byron, who bayed and whimpered and licked at their faces (they all dwarfed him now, they were so large and wild). Helen gathered her children in her arms, the brief shock washed away by relief. Never mind that their dæmons had settled (they were too young, how had this happened?). They were safe, and they were back with her. They were home.
...
Helen could not know that they would never call London home again. That her children were no longer children. They had grown up in another time, another place. Their souls ached for a magic that used to sing through them with every breath, thrum with every step. They longed to return home.