This was a pleasure to read: the language does delicious things in the course of establishing all that creepiness:

the trees all grasping and vile

So far from Spare Oom; so far from anyone to hear her in the dark.

Up hill and over dale and through the dark places you take her, and the distance from the Waste to your little house has never been so far.

perhaps hers looks nothing like this, out in the sunshine, in a place where the trees are still awake and don't whisper menacingly behind your back; in a place where Christmas has been and gone and is on its way back; in a place where Aslan comes and goes as a wild lion does.

Well, you can, but that will only get your hooves removed and your body turned to stone.

Thanks for writing!

~