And who could resist the call of a strange, new world through an old wardrobe? [Certainly not him. He wouldn't be able to ignore the possibility of it existing any more than he could help his imperviousness to cold: it was simply his nature, as was it collecting others' stories.

His eyebrows rose at her tale, wondering how much of it was embellishment. Perhaps none of it, but then he could only think she needed to add a bit. All good stories needed garnish.]

I'm sure it was, and you and your siblings were ever capable, yes? What was the significance of the lion?