“Narnia，” answered the Horse. “The happy land of Narnia.Narnia of the heathery mountains and the thymy downs， Narnia of the many rivers， the plashing glens， the mossy caverns and the deep forests ringing with the hammers of the Dwarfs. Oh， the sweet air of Narnia！ An hour’s life there is better than a thousand years in Calormen.” It ended with a whinny that sounded very like a sigh.
“How did you get here？” said Shasta.
“Kidnapped，” said the Horse. “Or stolen， or captured. whichever you like to call it. I was only a foal at the time.
My mother warned me not to range the Southern slopes， into Archenland and beyond， but I wouldn‘t heed her. And by the Lion’s Mane I have paid for my folly. All these years I have been a slave to humans， hiding my true nature and pretending to be dumb and witless like their horses.”
“Why didn‘t you tell them who you were？”
“Not such a fool， that’s why. If they‘d once found out I could talk they would have made a show of me at fairs and guarded me more carefully than ever. My last chance of escape would have been gone.”
“And why.” began Shasta， but the Horse interrupted him.
