Comprehend Languages let Bella understand the beaver's words, while her telepathy transmitted her meaning directly into his mind.
The beaver scratched his head, puzzled that he could somehow understand this human—but he asked his question again: "Are you a Daughter of Eve? Why are you alone? The prophecy mentioned four people. Where are your companions?"
He looked around expectantly, as though three more people were about to pop up from the snow at any moment.
Bella thought he had her confused with someone else—though how a beaver here wasn't afraid of humans was a mystery in itself.
She didn't volunteer her name or her purpose, and didn't deny being a Daughter of Eve either. "Do you have somewhere I could rest? I'm exhausted, and this snow is... I'm starting to feel a bit cold."
The beaver glanced at the sky—a darkened world buried under ice and snow—then gave her a skeptical look. Just "a bit" cold? Shouldn't it be "extremely" cold?
"My home is just over there, honored Daughter of Eve. Please, follow me." Mr. Beaver waved a friendly paw, then waddled off ahead of her to lead the way, inviting her back to wait out the storm.
Mr. Beaver's home was small—just a structure built from branches wedged beneath a rock outcropping. But the ceiling was just high enough that Bella only had to duck slightly to squeeze inside. A fire crackled and popped within, and with each small burst of warmth, some of the tension in her chest loosened.
If there was a Mr. Beaver, there was naturally a Mrs. Beaver—chatty, but warm and enthusiastic. She asked Bella what she'd like to eat.
"Thank you—some water would be fine, really. I don't eat very much." She glanced at their teeth. "I might have two carrots—would you like them? I'm not sure what you normally eat..."
The big front teeth made her think of rabbits. Beavers probably ate carrots, right?
She produced two carrots from her pocket dimension and handed them to Mrs. Beaver. These were vegetables grown by the Kamar-Taj apprentices. Who knew—maybe eating something from Kamar-Taj would awaken a magical aptitude in these two...
Her pocket dimension held food and water—not a lot, maybe a week's worth. She wasn't hungry, and the request for water had been mostly politeness. Two small beavers and one human—no point raiding anyone's pantry in a place like this.
Mrs. Beaver waddled back and, with some effort, set a large cup in front of Bella.
"Thank you. Thank you so much." Bella quickly took the cup before she could drop it.
A quick Hawkeye Vision scan found nothing concerning. She drank deeply. She didn't have much water in her pocket dimension—most of the space was taken up by equipment and books. The refill was genuinely welcome.
"Sons of Adam, Daughters of Eve—what do those terms mean here? And what is this place called?" Bella asked carefully.
She wasn't certain her mental picture matched reality, so asking the locals was the safest approach.
Her Charisma and the two suspiciously fresh-looking carrots worked their magic. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver launched into the history of this land.
"We don't know how large the world really is. Our ancestors said the whole world was covered in ice—but the land we're standing on, long ago, could see the sun. Back then..."
The Beavers spoke with warm nostalgia. As they described it, this place had once been livable enough—the great mountains blocked the worst of the incoming winds, and the climate on the sheltered side was bearable. The many races who couldn't survive the cold had all come to settle here, believing it was a land of hope. They named it Narnia.
Then Mr. Beaver's expression darkened with fear. "Until one day—that wicked witch came to Narnia. She called herself the White Witch, but she's nothing but the most evil sorceress there is."
"She covered Narnia entirely in ice and snow. The land of hope became a land of despair..."
Mr. Beaver slumped. Mrs. Beaver gently patted his back.
Narnia.
Bella pinched the bridge of her nose. She'd seen this film exactly once. She began dredging up the details from memory—and the clearer the picture became, the stranger her expression grew.
The Ancient One never did anything without a reason. She wouldn't just open a random portal and throw someone through it. If she'd sent Bella here, it was definitely for a reason. And that reason was almost certainly...
Bella raised a hand and cut off Mr. Beaver's very emotional, very detailed narration—she'd been getting increasingly emotional about Narnia's future, voice cracking, practically in tears.
"One moment, Mr. Beaver. Let me ask you something. Does this wicked witch look like... this?"
Bella had taken two days of drawing lessons from Heather once, and later practiced further to cultivate her "talented young woman" image for branding purposes. She wasn't brilliant, but she was passable.
She gathered the water vapor in the air and sculpted it into a portrait—the Ancient One's face, rendered in floating mist. Then she added hair. An Ancient One with hair.
The likeness was uncanny. The frozen surroundings gave the image an eerie, unsettling quality.
Mr. and Mrs. Beaver shook with visible terror, their two round bodies pressing together—which would have been comical under any other circumstances.
Their reaction was answer enough. "Understood. My mistake. I won't ask any more."
The two beavers remained on edge. Bella felt a mounting headache.
This whole situation had the Ancient One's fingerprints all over it—but what exactly was the intent? Deal with a dark side of herself? An alternate version? An evil doppelgänger?
She decided she needed to see for herself. Whatever the White Witch's connection to the Ancient One was, she had to know the facts before she could act. Some things, if you couldn't stop them, required you to take the initiative.
This land called Narnia wasn't large. The next morning, the sky still dark and sunless, she got directions from the Beavers and said her goodbyes.
"Please—please save Narnia! You carry the hope of all of us! If you need help, seek out Aslan—he'll help you!" Mr. and Mrs. Beaver waved their handkerchiefs as she left.
Bella got clear of them and set off alone.
Her heart was probably colder than Jotunheim right now. She wasn't going to bleed for strangers. She'd go take a look first. If the White Witch was weak, she'd find an opportunity and take her out. If the White Witch was strong—she'd drop it and walk away. She didn't know how long it would take to find the material plane's coordinates, or how many more days she'd be stuck here. Keeping a hidden threat nearby was dangerous. But throwing her life away for people she'd never met wasn't something she was willing to do either.