"The schoolyard swarms chaotically with children, noise and rushing bodies blurring together into one joyful shouting mass. Lucy has faced battles and evil sorceresses, but the turmoil of the schoolyard terrifies her. She lingers on the edge, observing. The battles are smaller, less bloody, but just as vicious.
There is one girl, small for her age, hovering at the edge of the crowd, like Lucy. Her clothes fit her awkwardly and she stands with a lonely knock-kneed sort of hope, gazing longingly at the knot of children. The other girls ignore her, decidedly cutting her out from their games. Lucy watches, amazed by the utter ordinariness of these everyday betrayals, amazed at how much they matter. These are what wars are won and lost on—she knows that better than anyone, except perhaps Edmund.
She gathers her courage, remembering the feel of fur under her fingers and the weight of her crown, and marches across the schoolyard. No one will dare argue with her."