When the seer-mouse croons over Reepicheep's destiny, she does it at the Jagged Place: the shattered rock that the Talking Mice claim as their own, and defend long after no one can remember why exactly it is their birthright. Larger beasts, who see only two halves of a long-weathered rock, mock the mice for thinking it something grand, the stage for every ritual. But Reepicheep knows that size does not matter; here, his ancestors, without names or language, had stood taller than a lion that had been made small.