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"And what about Fledge -- I know he must have been long since dead and dust, but surely there were herds of winged horses to grace the skies?" Polly asks, leaning forward across Digory's desk, which they have turned into an impromptu table since his study is the only room in the house both private enough and furnished with comfortable enough chairs for an hours-long discussion of Narnia.
Digory shakes his head, remembering the blank confusion on the Pevensies' faces when he had asked that same question of them: "Jadis held particular enmity against him for his part in our quest for the apple; if any of his blood survived her winter, they did so in hiding and in other lands and not even Aslan could call them home."
"So much lost," Polly says, her hand tightening on the edge of her tumbler, and they sit together in silence, imagining the cold, barren death of the bright world they once watched unfurl in joy and song.