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TO keep along the edge of the gorge was not so easy as it had looked．Before they had gone many yards they were confronted with young fir woods growing on the very edge，and after they had tried to go through these，stooping and pushing for about ten minutes，they realized that，in there，it would take them an hour to do half a mile．So they came back and out again and decided to go round the fir wood．This took them much farther to their right than they wanted to go，far out of sight of the cliffs and out of sound of the river，till they began to be afraid they had lost it altogether．Nobody knew the time，but it was getting to the hottest part of the day．
When they were able at last to go back to the edge of the gorge (nearly a mile below the point from which they had started) they found the cliffs on their side of it a good deal lower and more broken．Soon they found a way down into the gorge and continued the journey at the river’s edge．But first they had a rest and a long drink．No one was talking any more about breakfast，or even dinner，with Caspian．
They may have been wise to stick to the Rush instead of going along the top．It kept them sure of their direction: and ever since the fir wood they had all been afraid of being forced too far out of their course and losing themselves in the wood．It was an old and pathless forest，and you could not keep anything like a straight course in it．Patches of hopeless brambles，fallen trees，boggy places and dense undergrowth would be always getting in your way．But the gorge of the Rush was not at all a nice place for travelling either．I mean，it was not a nice place for people in a hurry．For an afternoon’s ramble ending in a picnic tea it would have been delightful．It had everything you could want on an occasion of that sort—rumbling waterfalls，silver cascades，deep，amber-coloured pools，mossy rocks，and deep moss on the banks in which you could sink over your ankles，every kind of fern，jewel-like dragon flies，sometimes a hawk overhead and once (Peter and Trumpkin．both thought) an eagle．But of course what the children and the Dwarf wanted to see as soon as possible was the Great River below them，and Beruna，and the way to Aslan’s How．
As they went on，the Rush began to fall more and more steeply．Their journey became more and more of a climb and less and less of a walk—in places even a dangerous climb over slippery rock with a nasty drop into dark chasms，and the river roaring angrily at the bottom.
You may be sure they watched the cliffs on their left eagerly for any sign of a break or any place where they could climb them; but those cliffs remained cruel．It was maddening，because everyone knew that if once they were out of the gorge on that side，they would have only a smooth slope and a fairly short walk to Caspian’s headquarters．
The boys and the Dwarf were now in favour of lighting a fire and cooking their bear-meat．Susan didn’t want this; she only wanted，as she said，“to get on and finish it and get out of these beastly woods”．Lucy was far too tired and miserable to have any opinion about anything．But as there was no dry wood to be had，it mattered very little what anyone thought．The boys began to wonder if raw meat was really as nasty as they had always been told．Trumpkin assured them it was．
Of course，if the children had attempted a journey like this a few days ago in England，they would have been worn out．I think I have explained before how Narnia was altering them．Even Lucy was by now，so to speak，only one-third of a little girl going to boarding school for the first time，and two-thirds of Queen Lucy of Narnia．
“At last！”said Susan．
“Oh，hurray！”said Peter．
The river gorge had just made a bend and the whole view spread out beneath them．They could see open country stretching before them to the horizon and，between it and them，the broad silver ribbon of the Great River．They could see the specially broad and shallow place which had once been the Fords of Beruna but was now spanned by a long，many-arched bridge．There was a little town at the far end of it．
“By Jove，”said Edmund．“We fought the Battle of Beruna just where that town is！”
This cheered the boys more than anything．You can’t help feeling stronger when you look at a place where you won a glorious victory not to mention a kingdom，hundreds of years ago．Peter and Edmund were soon so busy talking about the battle that they forgot their sore feet and the heavy drag of their mail shirts on their shoulders．The Dwarf was interested too．
They were all getting on at a quicker pace now．The going became easier．Though there were still sheer cliffs on their left，the ground was becoming lower on their right．Soon it was no longer a gorge at all，only a valley．There were no more waterfalls and presently they were in fairly thick woods again．
Then—all at once—whizz，and a sound rather like the stroke of a woodpecker．The children were still wondering where (ages ago) they had heard a sound just like that and why they disliked it so，when Trumpkin shouted，“Down,”at the same moment forcing Lucy (who happened to be next to him) flat down into the bracken．Peter，who had been looking up to see if he could spot a squirrel，had seen what it was—a long cruel arrow had sunk into a tree trunk just above his head．As he pulled Susan down and dropped himself，another came rasping over his shoulder and struck the ground at his side．
“Quick！ Quick！ Get back！ Crawl！”panted Trumpkin．
They turned and wriggled along uphill，under the bracken amid clouds of horribly buzzing flies．Arrows whizzed round them.
One struck Susan’s helmet with a sharp ping and glanced off．They crawled quicker．Sweat poured off them．Then they ran，stooping nearly double．The boys held their swords in their hands for fear they would trip them up．
It was heart-breaking work—all uphill again，back over the ground they had already travelled．When they felt that they really couldn’t run any more，even to save their lives，they all dropped down in the damp moss beside a waterfall and behind a big boulder，panting．They were surprised to see how high they had already got．
They listened intently and heard no sound of pursuit．
“So that’s all right，”said Trumpkin，drawing a deep breath.“They’re not searching the wood．Only sentries，I expect．But it means that Miraz has an outpost down there．Bottles and battledores！ though，it was a near thing．”
“I ought to have my head smacked for bringing us this way at all，”said Peter．
“On the contrary，your Majesty，”said the Dwarf．“For one thing it wasn’t you，it was your royal brother，King Edmund，who first suggested going by Glasswater．”
“I’m afraid the D．L．F．’s right，”said Edmund，who had quite honestly forgotten this ever since things began going wrong．
“And for another，”continued Trumpkin，“if we’d gone my way，we’d have walked straight into that new outpost，most likely; or at least had just the same trouble avoiding it．I think this Glasswater route has turned out for the best．”
“A blessing in disguise，”said Susan．
“Some disguise！”said Edmund．
“I suppose we’l l have to go right up the gorge again now，”said Lucy.
“Lu，you’re a hero，”said Peter．“That’s the nearest you’ve got today to saying I told you so．Let’s get on．”
“And as soon as we’re well up into the forest，”said Trumpkin，
“whatever anyone says，I’m going to light a fire and cook supper.But we must get well away from here．”
There is no need to describe how they toiled back up the gorge．It was pretty hard work，but oddly enough everyone felt more cheerful．They were getting their second wind; and the word supper had had a wonderful effect．
They reached the fir wood which had caused them so much trouble while it was still daylight，and bivouacked in a hollow just above it．It was tedious gathering the firewood; but it was grand when the fire blazed up and they began producing the damp and smeary parcels of bear-meat which would have been so very unattractive to anyone who had spent the day indoors．The Dwarf had splendid ideas about cookery．Each apple (they still had a few of these) was wrapped up in bear’s meat—as if it was to be apple dumpling with meat instead of pastry，only much thicker—and spiked on a sharp stick and then roasted．And the juice of the apple worked all through the meat，like apple sauce with roast pork．Bear that has lived too much on other animals is not very nice，but bear that has had plenty of honey and fruit is excellent，and this turned out to be that sort of bear．It was a truly glorious meal．And，of course，no washing up—only lying back and watching the smoke from Trumpkin’s pipe and stretching one’s tired legs and chatting．Everyone felt quite hopeful now about finding King Caspian tomorrow and defeating Miraz in a few days．It may not have been sensible of them to feel like this，but they did．
They dropped off to sleep one by one，but all pretty quickly．
Lucy woke out of the deepest sleep you can imagine，with the feeling that the voice she liked best in the world had been calling her name．She thought at first it was her father’s voice，but that did not seem quite right．Then she thought it was Peter’s voice，but that did not seem to fit either．She did not want to get up; not because she was still tired—on the contrary she was wonderfully rested and all the aches had gone from her bones-but because she felt so extremely happy and comfortable．She was looking straight up at the Narnian moon，which is larger than ours，and at the starry sky，for the place where they had bivouacked was comparatively open．
“Lucy，”came the call again，neither her father’s voice nor Peter’s．She sat up，trembling with excitement but not with fear．The moon was so bright that the whole forest landscape around her was almost as clear as day，though it looked wilder．Behind her was the fir wood; away to her right the jagged cliff-tops on the far side of the gorge; straight ahead，open grass to where a glade of trees began about a bow-shot away．Lucy looked very hard at the trees of that glade．
“Why，I do believe they’re moving，”she said to herself．“They’re walking about．”
She got up，her heart beating wildly，and walked towards them．There was certainly a noise in the glade，a noise such as trees make in a high wind，though there was no wind tonight.Yet it was not exactly an ordinary tree-noise either．Lucy felt there was a tune in it，but she could not catch the tune any more than she had been able to catch the words when the trees had so nearly talked to her the night before．But there was，at least，a lilt; she felt her own feet wanting to dance as she got nearer．And now there was no doubt that the trees were really moving— moving in and out through one another as if in a complicated country dance．(“And I suppose，”thought Lucy，“When trees dance,it must be a very,very country dance indeed.” She was almost among them now．
The first tree she looked at seemed at first glance to be not a tree at all but a huge man with a shaggy beard and great bushes of hair．She was not frightened: she had seen such things before．But when she looked again he was only a tree，though he was still moving.You couldn’t see whether he had feet or roots，of course，because when trees move they don’t walk on the surface of the earth; they wade in it as we do in water．The same thing happened with every tree she looked at.At one moment they seemed to be the friendly，lovely giant and giantess forms which the tree-people put on when some good magic has called them into full life: next moment they all looked like trees again．But when they looked like trees，it was like strangely human trees，and when they looked like people，it was like strangely branchy and leafy people—and all the time that queer lilting，rustling，cool，merry noise．
“They are almost awake，not quite，”said Lucy．She knew she herself was wide awake，wider than anyone usually is．
She went fearlessly in among them，dancing herself as she leaped this way and that to avoid being run into by these huge partners．But she was only half interested in them．She wanted to get beyond them to something else; it was from beyond them that the dear voice had called．
She soon got through them (half wondering whether she had been using her arms to push branches aside，or to take hands in a Great Chain with big dancers who stooped to reach her) for they were really a ring of trees round a central open place．She stepped out from among their shifting confusion of lovely lights and shadows.
A circle of grass，smooth as a lawn，met her eyes，with dark trees dancing all round it．And then—oh joy！ For he was there: the huge Lion，shining white in the moonlight，with his huge black shadow underneath him．
But for the movement of his tail he might have been a stone lion，but Lucy never thought of that．She never stopped to think whether he was a friendly lion or not．She rushed to him．She felt her heart would burst if she lost a moment．And the next thing she knew was that she was kissing him and putting her arms as far round his neck as she could and burying her face in the beautiful rich silkiness of his mane．
“Aslan，Aslan．Dear Aslan，”sobbed Lucy．“At last．”
The great beast rolled over on his side so that Lucy fell，half sitting and half lying between his front paws．He bent forward and just touched her nose with his tongue．His warm breath came all round her．She gazed up into the large wise face．
“Welcome，child，”he said．
“Aslan，”said Lucy，“you’re bigger．”
“That is because you are older，little one，”answered he．
