There is a place. It's not here, or Narnia, or the Wood or even Aslan's country. I don't know where it is, and it doesn't matter: I just know that it exists once everything else has gone. It is a constant that lives both outside and after time.

Peter is there; so is Edmund, and Lucy. They are happy, and they are laughing about something.

There is a swirl of petals, and into the dappled light walks Susan.

They don't recognise her at first. She is old. She has lived three lives; in Narnia, on Earth, and then on her world, each life full of love and sorrow. She has kept her pledge: when the last sentient thing on her planet died – a dryad from a mighty oak tree – she sat with it, keeping it company until the end, waiting for it to close its weary eyes for the last time. Then, she sung one more note, a note that she had not known until that moment; and her planet's orbit started to decay, and it set off on its long journey into its sun. She had waited for the seas to boil and the atmosphere to be stripped away by the savage solar winds; then she had stood up and walked away.

And here she is.

They run to her, delighted. Lucy hits her like a thunderbolt, wraps her arms round her sister, laughing and crying. Peter and Edmund are a little slower, but hug her too, so that all three of them are bundled around her.

Eventually, they release her. There are others there, too, that had thought her lost; her parents, her friends, the old professor. And, at the back, smiling gently, is George. They kiss, and it is like tasting sunshine.

There is a commotion behind her. She turns; everyone is kneeling. Walking through the ranks of the faithful is Aslan.

Susan does not kneel.

Peter looks up at her, amazed and slightly fearful. No one is frightened of Aslan here... But everyone knows that he is a Lord, and this is the way it is.

Aslan says nothing. His eyes lock with hers. He is in his lion form, and his head is higher than hers. His vast paws are the size of her chest, and the muscles under his golden fur tighten and stretch as he walks.

He stops in front of her. She looks at him; he looks at her. There is a silence.

The onlookers know that something is happening between the two of them, but they don't know what. Susan suddenly shimmers with a pale fire, and flowers grow around her, appearing from nowhere, butterflies and glowing beetles and spores and fruit sprouting like a bright explosion.

Then, like the pop of a seed underfoot, it suddenly stops. Susan and Aslan both nod at each other, as equals; and then the lion throws his head back and roars with laughter. His laugh is full of proud, fierce love, the love of a parent who sees his child as an adult for the first time; the delight of someone who has finally reached the end of a long journey and is looking forward to the next one.

She laughs too, a simpler laugh of happiness, and she throws her arms around his great neck; then she bids him farewell for now, and she walks away with George, holding his hand.

This is how it ends.