Narnia Dawn Treader Painting Novels & Stories

Xander That night, Father stands from his seat next to me. “As a token of gratitude for how you’ve welcomed us, we would like to offer you this chest, hand-painted by my own mother in anticipation of our trip.” That is our cue. I reach under the table, and at the same moment as my Beta, Corwyn, lift the three-foot-long chest onto the edge of the partially cleared banquet table. Nonna’s delicate brushstrokes swirl across the slick, black surface in reds, greens, and purples. Father is lying, of course. Nonna’s hands shake like the last autumn leaves of late; she painted this chest some years ago, and he stored it in one of our rare water-tight rooms for an occasion such as this. But it has th

I keep my bags on the floor in front of my room and walk up to him with a nervous smile, not sure of what this is all about. But when I step into the room after him, my jaw quickly hits the floor at the sight around me. “I take it that you like it then,” He says, a smile lacing his voice. “You’re going to have to wait for the paint in that corner to dry first before the room can be fully used.” He points to the right side of the room where there’s a complete nursery mural painting of a dreamy forest scene with soft, pastel coloured trees and foliage.

I’m tempted to pick it up and finish the work, but I don’t know whose it is, and that holds me back. There are many paintings. One shows the boy sitting on the edge of a mountain, laughing freely, an orange butterfly resting delicately on his nose. The painter’s style is incredibly realistic, capturing the lightness of that moment. The largest painting hangs above the lit fireplace in the center of the room. In it, Perseus is older, maybe thirteen, hair tied back in a bun. He’s sitting against a tree, deeply absorbed in a book.

“No one is taking you anywhere, princess. This is your home. I’m here. Mommy’s here.” Logan looked up from his drawing…a dragon with three figures, one with my hair, one with Darius’s blonde, and a third dark-haired man standing slightly apart. “But the kids at school said the painting man is sad because you hid us. Is that true, Mommy? Did we do something bad?”

“Come in.” His voice was low. Soft around the edges. The kind of voice he used when the rest of the world had already fallen away. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was full of light. Tall windows. Canvases leaning against the walls. A drop cloth on the floor, stained with old colors. Brushes stood in a jar. A palette waited on a table, wet with gold and cream and a deep warm brown. Dante stood in front of a large unfinished painting, brush in his hand, shirt sleeves rolled up, dark hair a little messy like he had been running his fingers through it. He did not turn right away.

Tate to his business in Brock's study. They went up the elegant winding staircase and down one of the corridors. Joanna stared at the lovely tapestries lining the walls. One depicted a unicorn trapped in a small circular fence. There was something about the scene, the tranquil immortal creature allowing itself to be captive while flowers bloomed around it and the animals in the woods looked upon the snowy-white beast in fascination and awe. "My mother loved this tapestry." Brock's rich voice rumbled from behind her, pulling her out of the spell of the intricately woven tapestry for a moment.

“Five thousand. Five-five. Six! Six-five. Seven thousand to the gentleman by the aisle. Do I hear seventy-five hundred?” I turned to Alec. “This is kind of thrilling.” He chuckled. “Wait until someone starts a bidding war. Then it gets fun.” His eyes found mine with a quiet intensity. Heat pooled in my belly and I tore my gaze away. Alec was right. By the third piece—a 30-by-40-inch piece titled ‘After the Rain' the room crackled with energy. The painting captured a muddy path winding through green pastures, the puddles reflecting the breaking sky and cattle grazing peacefully.

Dare has painted many like these, but just like he would always say. "How many more of these would you paint to be satiated?" Leon asked from behind him and Dare didn't need to look up to know who that voice belonged to. "Each setting sun and break of dawn, paints a unique picture, my dear sweet cousin..." He mused, finishing the last touches to his art. "...And no moment is the same as the one before," He laid down his paintbrush and got up to pick up a discarded painting lying under the Oak tree, Leon watched as he came back to him and handed him the painting. "See this, I painted yesterday, now lay it side by side with the one of today and you would see for yourself that each day brings a

"I gotta change, I hope you don't mind." "Of course," Arzu smiled. "Take your time." Najmah nodded, rising from the stool. She headed into the bathroom after picking up a fresh set of jeans and hoodie. A few minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom showered and dressed. "You see that rose over there?" she pointed at the painting. "That's my heart." "That," she pointed at the silhouette. "That is Aslan." "The thorns and dried leaves?" Arzu questioned, writing down her observations.

James interrupted her by saying; "Hey! Do you want to hear the story about those three children?" Dawn smiled. She never had an awesome childhood because of the reasons and she knew that those children in the portrait have a great time spending theirs. Those children are James, Xiao and Xio's husband but dead now, Dawn didn't know about it so James told her the story behind the portrait. "I received that portrait when I was in high school. Those children have been best friends ever since, a lot happened in their life, from childhood to growing up, they dreamt about becoming the world's famous scientist and conquering the world with their knowledge about science…"