Susan does not particularly care for boats; that does not mean she doesn't love the sea. She remembers how the surface of the water would glimmer like stained glass through the windows of Cair Paravel, how the sand felt under toes, that first day back, in those few hours without war; she remembers long afternoons spent staring up the coast of Calormen as the waves crashed at her feet, the sound soothing after the bustle of the markets and the droning diplomacy of the court.

She and Lucy would collect sea glass on the beaches of the Eastern Ocean, each piece a marvel in the smithies of the dwarves.

The ring she wears back through the Wardrobe does not gleam in the English sun, and the once-vibrant red of the glass fades until it looks like nothing more than rock.