“Who‘s done it？” cried Susan. “What does it mean？ Is it magic？” “Yes！” said a great voice behind their backs. “It is more magic.”
They looked round. There， shining in the sunrise， larger than they had seen him before， shaking his mane （for it had apparently grown again） stood Aslan himself.
“Oh， Aslan！” cried both the children， staring up at him， almost as much frightened as they were glad.
“Aren’t you dead then， dear Aslan？” said Lucy. “Not now，” said Aslan.
“You‘re not-not a-？” asked Susan in a shaky voice. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word ghost. Aslan stooped his golden head and licked her forehead. The warmth of his breath and a rich sort of smell that seemed to hang about his hair came all over her.
“Do I look it？” he said.
“Oh， you‘re real， you’re real！ Oh， Aslan！” cried Lucy， and both girls flung themselves upon him and covered him with kisses.
“But what does it all mean？” asked Susan when they were somewhat calmer.
“It means，” said Aslan， “that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic， there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back， into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned， she would have read there a different incantation. Shewould have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor‘s stead， the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards. And now-”
“Oh yes. Now？” said Lucy， jumping up and clapping her hands.
“Oh， children，” said the Lion， “I feel my strength coming back to me. Oh， children， catch me if you can！” He stood for a second， his eyes very bright， his limbs quivering， lashing himself with his tail. Then he made a leap high over their heads and landed on the other side of the Table. Laughing， though she didn’t know why， Lucy scrambled over it to reach him. Aslan leaped again. A mad chase began. Round and round the hill-top he led them， now hopelessly out of their reach， now letting them almost catch his tail， now diving between them， now tossing them in the air with his huge and beautifully velveted paws and catching them again， and now stopping unexpectedly so that all three of them rolled over together in a happy laughing heap of fur and arms and legs. It was such a romp as no one has ever had except in Narnia； and whether it was more like playing with a thunderstorm or playing with a kitten Lucy could never make up her mind. And the funny thing was that when all three finally lay together panting in the sun the girls no longer felt in the least tired or hungry or thirsty.
“And now，” said Aslan presently， “to business. I feel I am going to roar. You had better put your fingers in your ears.”
And they did. And Aslan stood up and when he opened his mouth to roar his face became so terrible that they did not dare to look at it. And they saw all the trees in front of him bend before the blast of his roaring as grass bends in a meadow before the wind. Then he said，“We have a long journey to go. You must ride on me.” And he crouched down and the children climbed on to his warm， golden back， and Susan sat first， holding on tightly to his mane and Lucy sat behind holding on tightly to Susan. And with a great heave he rose underneath them and then shot off， faster than any horse could go， downhill and into the thick of the forest.
That ride was perhaps the most wonderful thing that happened to them in Narnia. Have you ever had a gallop on a horse？ Think of that；and then take away the heavy noise of the hoofs and the jingle of the bits and imagine instead the almost noiseless padding of the great paws. Then imagine instead of the black or grey or chestnut back of the horse the soft roughness of golden fur， and the mane flying back in the wind. And then imagine you are going about twice as fast as the fastest racehorse. But this is a mount that doesn‘t need to be guided and never grows tired. He rushes on and on， never missing his footing， never hesitating， threading his way with perfect skill between tree trunks， jumping over bush and briar and the smaller streams， wading the larger， swimming the largest of all. And you are riding not on a road nor in a park nor even on the downs， but right across Narnia， in spring， down solemn avenues of beech and across sunny glades of oak， through wild orchards of snow-white cherry trees， past roaringwaterfalls and mossy rocks and echoing caverns， up windy slopes alightwith gorse bushes， and across the shoulders of heathery mountains and along giddy ridges and down， down， down again into wild valleys and out into acres of blue flowers.
It was nearly midday when they found themselves looking down a steep hillside at a castle-a little toy castle it looked from where they stood-which seemed to be all pointed towers. But the Lion was rushing down at such a speed that it grew larger every moment and before they had time even to ask themselves what it was they were already on a level with it. And now it no longer looked like a toy castle but rose frowning in front of them. No face looked over the battlements and the gates were fast shut. And Aslan， not at all slacking his pace， rushed straight as a bullet towards it.
“The Witch’s home！” he cried. “Now， children， hold tight.”
