Hey guys, Pariah here. I'm terribly sorry I haven't updated recently. I am currently in my last semester of college working toward getting my Associate's Degree, which is going to be followed with a Bachelor's in English. I am taking two advanced English courses (both of which require an astronomical amount of reading and writing. We have to read Moby Dick in 4 days!), a health class with an ass for a teacher that I've had to go to the dean to talk about because of his potentially-personal attacks on my grade, a creative writing class, and I am now working two jobs. Because of all that has been going on, my free time to write has been reduced to nil. I promise I haven't given up on anything, though! As soon as classes let out come May, I'll get right back on the ball. I just wanted to let you all know that I'm not dead and I am truly sorry for not having updated.

I don't want you all to feel gypped by this little update, though, so here is a sneak preview of the next chapter that I have written so far:

It hadn't been an exceptionally exciting day for Peter, at least, not at first. He had woken up an hour before dawn to train with Oreius, though it was much lonelier than he was used to. He had grown accustomed to Edmund walking alongside him to the training grounds, griping the entire way about the air being too cold, or the grass being too wet, or his stomach being too empty. It was always something, but that wasn't to say Edmund was at all lazy or bitter when it came to training. Griping had simply been his way of waking up, and it had, ironically, always done wonders in putting Peter into a good mood as well. The frustrated, hardly serious laments of the teenage boy had, every morning, struck a chord in Peter, and more often than not, he would find himself in the throes of an attack of the giggles by the time they reached the training grounds.

Not today, though, nor for the past several days. Six days ago, Edmund had set out with Lucy on a trip to Archenland. His sister had been planning on spending a couple of weeks with King Lune and his twin sons while Edmund traveled on to the coast to meet with two dear friends of his who were set to be married. For his siblings, Peter was certain the past six days had been nothing short of splendid. Lucy and Edmund had always enjoyed the two day trip to Archenland far more than the elder two, and days spent with the twins had to be a blast. Not for the staff of Anvard, of course, but for the four children. The thought of the calamities Edmund and Corin had most certainly caused in the three short days Edmund had been around must have been Hell for the kitchen staff, handmaidens, and others. Peter would have given anything to see the two commandeer the place for even a day, but unfortunately, he had had to stay behind and wait his turn to visit the ally castle with Susan in another week's time.

His days hadn't been nearly so fun, today least of all. Training had gone well, more or less, if not a bit harder than usual, due to having all of the instructors to himself. Breakfast afterward was satisfying, though a little bland without Edmund's spicy quips to lighten the mood, or Lucy's sugary, low-key reminders that she and Susan were still half asleep and certainly nowhere near awake enough to find his jokes as humorous as he'd like. Court was miserable, as always, and especially so without Edmund's comedic expressions or Lucy's cute little smiles to those who needed the brightness. Susan was there to cheer him up, of course, but only in theory. For the most part, Peter was left to himself while his sister bustled about taking care of her own matters.

It was during one of these lonely moments, an hour or so after dusk, when a beautiful Falcon perched on a branch next to Peter's head. The Bird looked terrified and sorrowful, and a jolt of utter dread washed over Peter like a thick veil falling after the last act of a play.

"Your Majesty," The Falcon started, unable to look Peter in the eye. "It is your brother, Sire. He has been felled on the path to Stormness Head. Queen Lucy rushed to his aid as soon as she heard what had happened, but the situation was dire, and..." The Bird trailed off.

"And...? How far was he? Did she make it?" Peter tried not to shout at the Bird, remembering a phrase his brother used to always tell him about shooting messengers and how it was rather frowned upon in most situations.

"I'm not completely sure of the details, Sire, but it doesn't look good. The Stag who delivered the message said only that he was shot in the chest and was living on borrowed time."