Now that Shasta knew he would have to spend the night alone （it was getting darker every minute） he began to like the look of the place less and less. There was something very uncomfortable about those great， silent shapes of stone. He had been trying his hardest for a long time not to think of ghouls： but he couldn’t keep it up any longer.
“Ow！ Ow！ Help！” he shouted suddenly， for at that very moment he felt something touch his leg. I don‘t think anyone can be blamed for shouting if something comes up from behind and touches him； not in such a place and at such a time， when he is frightened already. Shasta at any rate was too frightened to run. Anything would be better than being chased round and round the burial places of the Ancient Kings with something he dared not look at behind him. Instead， he did what was really the most sensible thing he could do. He looked round； and his heart almost burst with relief. What had touched him was only a cat.
The light was too bad now for Shasta to see much of the cat except that it was big and very solemn. It looked as if it might have lived for long， long years among the Tombs， alone. Its eyes made you think it knew secrets it would not tell.
