“WAS it all a dream? ” wondered Shasta. But it couldn't have been a dream for there in the grass before him he saw the deep, large print of the Lion's front right paw. It took one's breath away to think of the weight that could make a footprint like that. But there was something more remarkable than the size about it. As he looked at it, water had already filled the bottom of it. Soon it was full to the brim, and then overflowing, and a little stream was running downhill, past him, over the grass.
Shasta stooped and drank—a very long drink—and then dipped his face in and splashed his head. It was extremely cold, and clear as glass, and refreshed him very much. After that he stood up, shaking the water out of his ears and flinging the wet hair back from his forehead, and began to take stock of his surroundings.
Apparently it was still very early morning. The sun had only just risen, and it had risen out of the forests which he saw low down and far away on his right. The country j which he was looking at was absolutely new to him. It was t a green valley-land dotted with trees through which he caught the gleam of a river that wound away roughly to the North-West. On the far side of the valley there were high and even rocky hills, but they were lower than the mountains he had seen yesterday. Then he began to guess where he was. He turned and looked behind him and saw that the slope on which he was standing belonged to a range of far higher mountains.
“I see, ” said Shasta to himself. “Those are the big mountains between Archenland and Narnia. I was on the°. other side of them yesterday. I must have come through the pass in the night. What luck that I hit it! —at least it wasn't luck at all really, it was Him. And now I'm in Narnia.”
He turned and unsaddled his horse and took off its bridle—“Though you are a perfectly horrid horse, ” he said. It took no notice of this remark and immediately began eating grass. That horse had a very low opinion of Shasta.