wandbreaker | Voice;

The laugh here is short, clipped even, but not forcibly so.

"No, no school," a pause as he corrects himself. "Well, there is a school, but from what I hear, its attendance is all of a handful of citizens." In short, it isn't mandatory here, and that much is a relief to Peter who has no interest in repeating too many aspects of growing up twice or three times. He will go to school in England, concentrate in medicine or perhaps teaching--something that facilitates a change involving improvement in the best cases and a matter of truth at bare minimum in the worst as far as he can tell, as far as he would treat it himself. The black cat on the bed pauses in the tail flicking to stretch his forward legs and invert his back in a reach articulated by a purr that is nearly visible. "That's Shadow, by the way." Peter refrains from pointing out the obvious; that being how it is likely Edmund will have to briefly fight for his bed back. Maybe. It depends on how lazy Shadow is or isn't, mostly.

Shadow. The cat looks like something the girls would fight for. Not that Peter is heartless to animals, but the High King of Narnia isn't like Lucy or even Susan when it comes to homeless pets. Caspian notwithstanding.

Edmund circulates through possible things for him to do in the City, but he sets that aside now too. From the way Peter reacted, it's clear that Ed's been missed. It's a nice feeling, even if he doesn't like the idea of his family being separated. It launches all kinds of old anxieties, anxieties about the Witch and a betrayal that happened so long ago. Edmund sits on the bed and Shadow gives him a cursory glance, as if he's challenging him to the space that by all rights belongs to the King of Narnia.

"Maybe I should pick up a hobby. Snowshoeing, I hear that's a good one for cold climates." He knows that this blizzard is a curse, but it was still slow-going to get back to the house that is more like a compound. He brushes the joke off, though. "I'm glad we're altogether."

The words unsaid are 'sorry I wasn't here sooner', but Edmund will never say that, not to Peter. To Lucy, perhaps, and even Susan. But not to his older brother.

Plenty of things ought to be said in life but there are nearly as many that do not need to be if one stops to think about them for a moment, or to consider their presence without the verbalization. Edmund doesn't need to apologize because it wasn't his fault in the first place, and as far as Peter is concerned that's that on the subject.

"Snowshoeing, if you like," he replies dryly and continues with barely a breath, "But no hurry." That is both true and terribly the opposite, but the latter cannot be helped. Even as Edmund could vanish, so too could Peter, could Susan, could Lucy, could Caspian. Any one of them. All of them. So it only makes sense enough to decide there is no rush on what precisely to do with one's time as long as one does something. Anything is better than nothing, barring a few of the obvious exceptions to the rule, none of which the Just is likely to endorse or involve himself in anyway.

"I don't suspect one can hurry in snowshoes," Edmund points out in a ridiculously unnecessary way. He reaches to scratch the cat behind the ears. There are a lot of things that they don't have to say: where Ed fits into the scheme of this house, because he will be what he always is.

This situation could be much more distressing than it is, but having family makes it much better. At least the introduction to the City is less confusing, if nothing else.

"Tomorrow, will you show me around, or am I getting lost on my own?"

Leaning in the doorway, arms folded, the blond smiles a little again, but this many half and quarter smiles manage to make up more than his usual share shown at all, outside of the usual suspects.

"I," he emphasizes, "Don't care much for snowshoeing," and his look here is wry because a joke is a joke is a joke---one he moves on from without pause, "But if the weather decides to catch back up to the proper season," and here is the pause. Said pause seamlessly transitions into a pointed nod and shrug, the equivalent to of course I will and we won't be getting lost anyway and the like. His gaze drops to the now rather attention-fed feline. "He favors your room regularly." This can also be read as you may have trouble reclaiming your bed, but Edmund will find that out sooner than later for himself.

If Peter keeps smiling his face will freeze that way, and then what will the populace think? That the High King is in a good mood? Imagine their shock and distress at that idea. But Edmund likes the smiles, they're encouraging, and he offers his own back.

"Of course he does, now that I'm here he'll favor it even more, I reckon," Edmund says, his knowledge of the nature of felines relatively clear-sighted. Peter probably feeds it, which it why it stays away from the blond's room. And it's not that he expect to get lost, it just seems an inevitability if he goes out on his own.

Voice;

but maybe I believe in another place // if you go, you won't look back

but maybe I believe in another place // if you go, you won't look back

but maybe I believe in another place // if you go, you won't look back

but maybe I believe in another place // if you go, you won't look back

but maybe I believe in another place // if you go, you won't look back

but maybe I believe in another place // if you go, you won't look back