Then Aslan stopped， and the children looked into the stream. And there， on the golden gravel of the bed of the stream， lay King Caspian， dead， with the water flowing over him like liquid glass. His long white beard swayed in it like water.weed. And all three stood and wept. Even the Lion wept： great lion.tears， each tear more precious than the Earth would be if it was a single solid diamond. And Jill noticed that Eustace looked neither like a child crying， nor like a boy crying and wanting to hide it， but like a grown.up crying. At least， that is the nearest she could get to it； but really， as she said， people don‘t seem to have any particular ages on that mountain.
“Son of Adam，” said Aslan， “go into that thicket and pluckthe thorn that you will find there， and bring it to me.”
Eustace obeyed. The thorn was a foot long and sharp as a rapier.
“Drive it into my paw， Son of Adam，” said Aslan， holding up his right fore.paw and spreading out the great pad towards Eustace.
“Must I？” said Eustace. “Yes，” said Aslan.
