I can hear leaves rustle in the wind, flowers bloom as they scatter across the pond on their little pads, and the trees creak and groan as they talk to each other in their ancient language without words. The forest is talking all around me, begging me to wake up, to join it, to leap into its arms.

But I cannot wake. Nothing it has done so far has woken me up. Here I slumber in the dark, where countless others wait until the forest makes their eyes flutter open to see the light of their world. In the distance, I know there are others there, others who call louder than any of the forest itself. Their warmth dances about like a flickering candle in the breeze, never in the same place twice.

Around me I hear their footsteps, but they pass by without word, never seeing me slumbering there. I await but one cry, one call, one heart whose warmth glows most of all. Yet like me it is silent, nothing more than a shining beacon for those who are lost.

I am not lost, I know where I am. I can hear dull muffles of cries of the glowing bodies that so oft surround me, but never are they clear, never are they for me.

I can feel a chill down my spine...for I know when the call will beckon me to the forest. The draftiness that surrounds me clutches tight to my heart, yet it will not give in to the cold. I will not bow to it, and perhaps that is why I know I will hear it so clearly. When the snow falls, I will arrive.

That is when my roar will be heard throughout the forest, and the world itself will fall into silence for one mere moment, for I will have arrived.

They will know my name is Narnia.