“Peter， High King of Narnia，” said Aslan. “Shut the Door.” Peter， shivering with cold， leaned out into the darkness and pulled the Door to. It scraped over ice as he pulled it. Then， rather clumsily （for even in that moment his hands had gone numb and blue） he took out a golden key andlocked it.
They had seen strange things enough through that Doorway. But it was stranger than any of them to look round and find themselves in warm daylight， the blue sky above them， flowers at their feet， and laughter in Aslan’s eyes.
He turned swiftly round， crouched lower， lashed himself with his tail and shot away like a golden arrow.
“Come further in！ Come further up！” he shouted over his shoulder. But who could keep up with him at that pace？ They set out walking Westward to follow him.
“So，” said Peter， “night falls on Narnia. What， Lucy！ You‘re not crying？ With Aslan ahead， and all of us here？”
“Don’t try to stop me， Peter，” said Lucy， “I am sure Aslan would not. I am sure it is not wrong to mourn for Narnia. Think of all that lies dead and frozen behind that door.”
“Yes and I did hope，” said Jill， “that it might go on for ever. I knew our world couldn‘t. I did think Narnia might.”
