the way you're trying to climb up me! There, that's better. Now sit up and remember what 
I told you about your knees. Funny to think of me who has led cavalry charges and won 
races having a potato-sack like you in the saddle! However, off we go." It chuckled, not 
unkindly.
    
    And it certainly began their night journey with great caution. First of all it went 
just south of the fisherman's cottage to the little river which there ran into the sea, 
and took care to leave in the mud some very plain hoof-marks pointing South. But as soon 
as they were in the middle of the ford it turned upstream and waded till they were about 
a hundred yards farther inland than the cottage. Then it selected a nice gravelly bit of 
bank which would take no footprints and came out on the Northern side. Then, still at a 
walking pace, it went Northward till the cottage, the one tree, the donkey's stable, and 
the creek-everything, in fact, that Shasta had ever known-had sunk out of sight in the 
grey summer-night darkness. They had been going uphill and now were at the top of the 
ridge-that ridge which had always been the boundary of Shasta's known world. He could not 
see what was ahead except that it was all open and grassy. It looked endless: wild and 
lonely and free.
    
    "I say!" observed the Horse. "What a place for a gallop, eh!"
    
    "Oh don't let's," said Shasta. "Not yet. I don't know how to-please, Horse. I don't 
know your name."
    
    "Breehy-hinny-brinny-hooky-hah," said the Horse.
    
    "I'll never be able to say that," said Shasta. "Can I call you Bree?"
    
    "Well, if it's the best you can do, I suppose you must," said the Horse. "And what 
shall I call you?"
    
    "I'm called Shasta."
    
    "H'm," said Bree. "Well, now, there's a name that's really hard to pronounce. But now 
about this gallop. It's a good deal easier than trotting if you only knew, because you 
don't have to rise and fall. Grip with your knees and keep your eyes straight ahead 
between my ears. Don't look at the ground. If you think you're going to fall just grip 
harder and sit up straighter. Ready? Now: for Narnia and the North."
    
    
    
    
    CHAPTER TWO
    
    A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE
    
    IT was nearly noon on the following day when Shasta was wakened by something warm and 
soft moving over his face. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the long 
face of a horse; its nose and lips were almost touching his. He remembered the exciting 
events of the previous night and sat up. But as he did so he groaned.
    
    "Ow, Bree," he gasped. "I'm so sore. All over. I can hardly move."
    
    "Good morning, small one," said Bree. "I was afraid you might feel a bit stiff. It 
can't be the falls. You didn't have more than a dozen or so, and it was all lovely, soft 
springy turf that must have been almost a pleasure to fall on. And the only one that 
might have been nasty was broken by that gorse bush. No: it's the riding itself that 
comes hard at first. What about breakfast? I've had mine."
    
    "Oh bother breakfast. Bother everything," said Shasta. "I tell you I can't move." But 
the horse nuzzled at him with its nose and pawed him gently with a hoof till he had to 
get up. And then he looked about him and saw where they were. Behind them lay a little 
copse. Before them the turf, dotted with white flowers, sloped down to the brow of a 
cliff. Far below them, so that the sound of the breaking waves was very faint, lay the 
sea. Shasta had never seen it from such a height and never seen so much of it before, nor 
dreamed how many colours it had. On either hand the coast stretched away, headland after 
headland, and at the points you could see the white foam running up the rocks but making 
no noise because it was so far off. There were gulls flying overhead and the heat 
shivered on the ground; it was a blazing day. But what Shasta chiefly noticed was the 
air. He couldn't think what was missing, until at last he realized that there was no 
smell of fish in it. For of course, neither in the cottage nor among the nets, had he 
ever been away from that smell in his life. And this new air was so delicious, and all 
his old life seemed so far away, that he forgot for a moment about his bruises and his 
aching muscles and said:
    
    "I say, Bree, didn't you say something about breakfast?"
    
    "Yes, I did," answered Bree. "I think you'll find something in the saddle-bags. 
They're over there on that tree where you hung them up last night-or early this morning, 
rather."
    
    They investigated the saddle-bags and the results were cheering-a meat pasty, only 
slightly stale, a lump of dried figs and another lump of green cheese, a little flask of 
wine, and some money; about forty crescents in all, which was more than Shasta had ever 
seen.
    
    While Shasta sat down-painfully and cautiously-with his back against a tree and 
started on the pasty, Bree had a few more mouthfuls of grass to keep him company.
    
    "Won't it be stealing to use the money?" asked Shasta.
    
    "Oh," said the Horse, looking up with its mouth full of grass, "I never thought of 
that. A free horse and a talking horse mustn't steal, of course. But I think it's all 
right. We're prisoners and captives in enemy country. That money is booty, spoil. 
Besides, how are we to get any food for you without it? I suppose, like all humans, you 
won't eat natural food like grass and oats."
    
    "I can't."
    
    "Ever tried?"