Dawn Treader Valley Fisher, Fisher where are you.

Otto’s lookalike crept closer, offering his help. Frolic knew he wasn’t the same man, yet the kind words still struck her as if he’d spoken them. She cried all the harder. She’d done such terrible things for him. But he hadn’t asked for that. Hopefully he’d benefited from her rashness—oh, it was torturous to think she’d done it all for naught—but that didn’t mean Otto would condone it. No, surely he would condemn her.

No! she bawled.

She knew he wasn’t Otto, though Frolic’s state of mind was shaking to pieces. She gulped and shuddered, aware that she was making quite a scene in front of a perfect stranger. What if he figured out what ailed her? In her distress, Frolic decided it didn’t even matter anymore.

Nobody can help me! she screamed, wringing her paws now. I’m… I’m… Frolic shook as though the earth beneath her feet quaked. I—killed—her. I killed them, she confessed before sinking to the ground in an anguished, writhing heap.