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SUSAN and the two boys were bitterly tired with rowing before they rounded the last headland and began the final pull up Glasswater itself，and Lucy’s head ached from the long hours of sun and the glare on the water．Even Trumpkin longed for the voyage to be over．The seat on which he sat to steer had been made for men，not Dwarfs，and his feet did not reach the floor-boards; and everyone knows how uncomfortable that is even for ten minutes.And as they all grew more tired，their spirits fell.Up till now the children had only been thinking of how to get to Caspian．Now they wondered what they would do when they found him，and how a handful of Dwarfs and woodland creatures could defeat an army of grown-up Humans．
Twilight was coming on as they rowed slowly up the windings of Glasswater Creek-a twilight which deepened as the banks drew closer together and the overhanging trees began almost to meet overhead．It was very quiet in here as the sound of the sea died away behind them; they could even hear the trickle of the little streams that poured down from the forest into Glasswater．
They went ashore at last，far too tired to attempt lighting a fire; and even a supper of apples (though most of them felt that they never wanted to see an apple again) seemed better than trying to catch or shoot anything．After a little silent munching they all huddled down together in the moss and dead leaves between four large beech trees．
Everyone except Lucy went to sleep at once．Lucy，being far less tired，found it hard to get comfortable．Also，she had forgotten till now that all Dwarfs snore．She knew that one of the best ways of getting to sleep is to stop trying，so she opened her eyes．Through a gap in the bracken and branches she could just see a patch of water in the Creek and the sky above it．Then，with a thrill of memory，she saw again，after all those years，the bright Narnian stars．She had once known them better than the stars of our own world，because as a Queen in Narnia she had gone to bed much later than as a child in England．And there they were—at least，three of the summer constellations could be seen from where she lay: the Ship，the Hammer，and the Leopard．“Dear old Leopard，”she murmured happily to herself．
Instead of getting drowsier she was getting more awake—with an odd，night-time，dreamish kind of wakefulness．The Creek was growing brighter．She knew now that then moon was on it，though she couldn’t see the moon．And now she began to feel that the whole forest was coming awake like herself．Hardly knowing why she did it，she got up quickly and walked a little distance away from their bivouac．
“This is lovely，”said Lucy to herself．It was cool and fresh，delicious smells were floating everywhere．Somewhere close by she heard the twitter of a nightingale beginning to sing，then stopping，then beginning again．It was a little lighter ahead．She went towards the light and came to a place where there were fewer trees，and whole patches or pools of moonlight，but the moonlight and the shadows so mixed that you could hardly be sure where anything was or what it was．At the same moment the nightingale，satisfied at last with his tuning up，burst into full song．
Lucy’s eyes began to grow accustomed to the light，and she saw the trees that were nearest her more distinctly．A great longing for the old days when the trees could talk in Narnia came over her．She knew exactly how each of these trees would talk if only she could wake them，and what sort of human form it would put on．She looked at a silver birch: it would have a soft，showery voice and would look like a slender girl，with hair blown all about her face，and fond of dancing．She looked at the oak: he would be a wizened，but hearty old man with a frizzled beard and warts on his face and hands，and hair growing out of the warts．She looked at the beech under which she was standing．Ah！—she would be the best of all．She would be a gracious goddess，smooth and stately，the lady of the wood.
“Oh，Trees，Trees，Trees，”said Lucy (though she had not been intending to speak at all)．“Oh，Trees，wake，wake，wake．Don’t you remember it？ Don’t you remember me？ Dryads and Hamadryads，come out，come to me．”
Though there was not a breath of wind they all stirred about her．The rustling noise of the leaves was almost like words．The nightingale stopped singing as if to listen to it．Lucy felt that at any moment she would begin to understand what the trees were trying to say．But the moment did not come．The rustling died away．The nightingale resumed its song．Even in the moonlight the wood looked more ordinary again．Yet Lucy had the feeling (as you sometimes have when you are trying to remember a name or a date and almost get it，but it vanishes before you really do) that she had just missed something: as if she had spoken to the trees a split second too soon or a split second too late，or used all the right words except one，or put in one word that was just wrong．
Quite suddenly she began to feel tired．She went back to the bivouac，snuggled down between Susan and Peter，and was asleep in a few minutes．
It was a cold and cheerless waking for them all next morning，with a grey twilight in the wood (for the sun had not yet risen) and everything damp and dirty．
“Apples，heigh-ho，”said Trumpkin with a rueful grin．“I must say you ancient kings and queens don’t overfeed your courtiers！”
They stood up and shook themselves and looked about．The trees were thick and they could see no more than a few yards in any direction．
“I suppose your Majesties know the way all right？”said the Dwarf.
“I don’t，”said Susan．“I’ve never seen these woods in my life before．In fact I thought all along that we ought to have gone by the river．”
“Then I think you might have said so at the time，”answered Peter，with pardonable sharpness．
“Oh，don’t take any notice of her，”said Edmund．“She always is a wet blanket．You’ve got that pocket compass of yours，Peter，haven’t you？ Well，then，we’re as right as rain.We’ve only got to keep on going north west—cross that little river，the what-do-you-call-it？—the Rush—”
“I know，”said Peter．“The one that joins the big river at the Fords of Beruna，or Beruna’s Bridge，as theD．L．F．calls it．”
“That’s right．Cross it and strike uphill，and we’ll be at the Stone Table (Aslan’s How，I mean) by eight or nine o’clock．I hope King Caspian will give us a good breakfast！”
“I hope you’re right，”said Susan．“I can’t remember all that at all．”
“That’s the worst of girls，”said Edmund to Peter and the Dwarf．“They never carry a map in their heads．”
“That’s because our heads have something inside them，”said Lucy.
At first things seemed to be going pretty well．They even thought they had struck an old path; but if you know anything about woods，you will know that one is always finding imaginary paths．They disappear after about five minutes and then you think you have found another (and hope it is not another but more of the same one) and it also disappears，and after you have been well lured out of your right direction you realize that none of them were pats at all．The boys and the Dwarf，however，were used to woods and were not taken in for more than a few seconds．
They had plodded on for about half an hour (three of them very stiff from yesterday’s rowing) when Trumpkin suddenly whispered，“Stop．”They all stopped．“there’s something following us，”he said in a low voice．“Or rather，something keeping up with us: over there on the left．”They all stood still，listening and staring till their ears and eyes ached．“You and I’d better each have an arrow on the string，”said Susan to Trumpkin．The Dwarf nodded，and when both bows were ready for action the party went on again．
They went a few dozen yards through fairly open woodland，keeping a sharp look-out．Then they came to a place where the undergrowth thickened and they had to pass nearer to it．Just as they were passing the place，there came a sudden something that snarled and flashed，rising out from the breaking twigs like a thunderbolt．Lucy was knocked down and winded，hearing the twang of a bowstring as she fell．When she was able to take notice of things again，she saw a great grim-looking grey bear lying dead with Trumpkin’s arrow in its side．
“TheD．L．F．beat you in that shooting match，Su，”said Peter，with a slightly forced smile．Even he had been shaken by this adventure．
“I—I left it too late，”said Susan，in an embarrassed voice．“I was so afraid it might be，you know—one of our kind of bears，a talking bear．”She hated killing things．
“That’s the trouble of it，”said Trumpkin，“when most of the beasts have gone enemy and gone dumb，but there are still some of the other kind left．You never know，and you daren’t wait to see．”
“Poor old Bruin，”said Susan．“You don’t think he was？”
“Not he，”said the Dwarf．“I saw the face and I heard the snarl．He only wanted Little Girl for his breakfast．And talking of breakfast，I didn’t want to discourage your Majesties when you said you hoped King Caspian would give you a good one: but meat’s precious scarce in camp．And there’s good eating on a bear.It would be a shame to leave the carcass without taking a bit，and it won’t delay us more than half an hour．I dare say you two youngsters—Kings，I should say—know how to skin a bear？”
“Let’s go and sit down a fair way off，”said Susan to Lucy．“I know what a horrid messy business that will be．”Lucy shuddered and nodded．When they had sat down she said:“Such a horrible idea has come into my head，Su．”
“What’s that？”
“Wouldn’t it be dreadful if some day in our own world，at home，men started going wild inside，like the animals here，and still looked like men，so that you’d never know which were which？”
“We’ve got enough to bother about here and now in Narnia，”
said the practical Susan，“without imagining things like that．”
When they rejoined the boys and the Dwarf，as much as they thought they could carry of the best meat had been cut off．Raw meat is not a nice thing to fill one’s pockets with，but they folded it up in fresh leaves and made the best of it．They were all experienced enough to know that they would feel quite differently about these squashy and unpleasant parcels when they had walked long enough to be really hungry．
On they trudged again (stopping to wash three pairs of hands that needed it in the first stream they passed) until the sun rose and the birds began to sing，and more flies than they wanted were buzzing in the bracken．The stiffness from yesterday’s rowing began to wear off．Everybody’s spirits rose．The sun grew warmer
and they took their helmets off and carried them．
“I suppose we are going right？”said Edmund about an hour later.
“I don’t see how we can go wrong as long as we don’t bear too much to the left，”said Peter．“If we bear too much to the right，the worst that can happen is wasting a little time by striking the great River too soon and not cutting off the corner．”
And again they trudged on with no sound except the thud of their feet and the jingle of their chain shirts．
“Where’s this bally Rush got to？”said Edmund a good deal later．
“I certainly thought we’d have struck it by now，”said Peter．“But there’s nothing to do but keep on．”They both knew that the Dwarf was looking anxiously at them，but he said nothing．
And still they trudged on and their mail shirts began to feel very hot and heavy．
“What on earth？”said Peter suddenly．
They had come，without seeing it，almost to the edge of a small precipice from which they looked down into a gorge with a river at the bottom．On the far side the cliffs rose much higher．
