The cat stared at him harder than ever. Then it started walking away， and of course Shasta followed it. It led him right through the Tombs and out on the desert side of them. There it sat down bolt upright with its tail curled round its feet and its face set towards the desert and towards Narnia and the North， as still as if it were watching for some enemy. Shasta lay down beside it with his back against the cat and his face towards the Tombs， because if one is nervous there‘s nothing like having your face towards the danger and having something warm and solid at your back. The sand wouldn’t have seemed very comfortable to you， but Shasta had been sleeping on the ground for weeks and hardly noticed it. Very soon he fell asleep， though even in his dreams he went on wondering what had happened to Bree and Aravis and Hwin.
He was wakened suddenly by a noise he had never heard before. “Perhaps it was only a nightmare，” said Shasta to himself. At the same moment he noticed that the cat had gone from his back， and he wished it hadn‘t. But he lay quite still without even opening his eyes because he felt sure he would be more frightened if he sat up and looked round at the Tombs and the loneliness： just as you or I might lie still with the clothes over our heads. But then the noise came again-a harsh， piercing cry from behind him out of the desert. Thenof course he had to open his eyes and sit up.
The moon was shining brightly. The Tombs-far bigger and nearer than he had thought they would be-looked grey in the moonlight. In fact， they looked horribly like huge people， draped in grey robes that covered their heads and faces. They were not at all nice things to have near you when spending a night alone in a strange place. But the noise had come from the opposite side， from the desert. Shasta had to turn his back on the Tombs （he didn’t like that much） and stare out across the level sand. The wild cry rang out again.
“I hope it‘s not more lions，” thought Shasta. It was in fact not very like the lion’s roars he had heard on the night when they met Hwin and Aravis， and was really the cry of a jackal. But of course Shasta didnot know this. Even if he had known， he would not have wanted very much to meet a jackal.
The cries rang out again and again. “There‘s more than one of them， whatever they are，” thought Shasta. “And they’re coming nearer.”
I suppose that if he had been an entirely sensible boy he would have gone back through the Tombs nearer to the river where there were houses， and wild beasts would be less likely to come. But then there were （or he thought there were） the ghouls. To go back through the Tombs would mean going past those dark openings in the Tombs； and what might come out of them？ It may have been silly， but Shasta felt he would rather risk the wild beasts. Then， as the cries came nearer and nearer， he began to change his mind.
He was just going to run for it when suddenly， between him and the desert， a huge animal bounded into view. As the moon was behind it， it looked quite black， and Shasta did not know what it was， except that it had a very big， shaggy head and went on four legs. It did not seem to have noticed Shasta， for it suddenly stopped， turned its head towards the desert and let out a roar which re-echoed through the Tombs and seemed to shake the sand under Shasta‘s feet. The cries ofthe other creatures suddenly stoppd and he thought he could hear feet scampering away. Then the great beast turned to examine Shasta.
“It’s a lion， I know it‘s a lion，” thought Shasta. “I’m done. I wonder will it hurt much. I wish it was over. I wonder does anything happen to people after they‘re dead. O-o-oh！ Here it comes！” And he shut his eyes and his teeth tight.
But instead of teeth and claws he only felt something warm lying down at his feet. And when he opened his eyes he said， “Why， it’s not nearly as big as I thought！ It‘s only half the size. No， it isn’t even quarter the size. I do declare it‘s only the cat！！ I must have dreamed all that about its being as big as a horse.”
And whether he really had been dreaming or not， what was now lying at his feet， and staring him out of countenance with its big， green， unwinking eyes， was the cat； though certainly one of the largest cats he had ever seen.
“Oh， Puss，” gasped Shasta. “I am so glad to see you again. I’ve been having such horrible dreams.” And he at once lay down again， back to back with the cat as they had been at the beginning of the night. The warmth from it spread all over him.
“I‘ll never do anything nasty to a cat again as long as I live，” said Shasta， half to the cat and half to himself. “I did once， you know. I threw stones at a half-starved mangy old stray. Hey！ Stop that.” For the cat had turned round and given him a scratch. “None of that，” said Shasta. “It isn’t as if you could understand what I‘m saying.” Then he dozed off.
Next morning when he woke， the cat was gone， the sun was already up， and the sand hot. Shasta， very thirsty， sat up and rubbed his eyes. The desert was blindingly white and， though there was a murmur of noises from the city behind him， where he sat everything was perfectly still. When he looked a little left and west， so that the sun was not in his eyes， he could see the mountains on the far side of the desert， so sharp and clear that they looked only a stone’s throw away. He particularly noticed one blue height that divided into two peaks at the top and decided that it must be Mount Pire. “That‘s our direction， judging by what the Raven said，” he thought， “so I’ll just make sure of it， so as not to waste any time when the others turn up.” So he made a good， deep straight furrow with his foot pointing exactly to Mount Pire.
