“I don‘t like the idea of running away，” said Caspian.
“Hear him！ Hear him！” said the Bulgy Bears. “Whatever we do， don’t let‘s have any running. Especially not before supper； and not too soon after it neither.”
“Those who run first do not always run last，” said the Centaur. “And why should we let the enemy choose our position instead of choosing it ourselves？ Let us find a strong place.”
“That’s wise， your Majesty， that‘s wise，” said Trufflehunter. “But where are we to go？” asked several voices.
“Your Majesty，” said Doctor Cornelius， “and all you variety of creatures， I think we must fly east and down the river to the great woods. The Telmarines hate that region. They have always been afraid of the sea and of something that may come over the sea. That is why they have let the great woods grow up. If traditions speak true， the ancient Cair Paravel was at the river-mouth. All that part is friendly to us and hateful to our enemies. We must go to Aslan’s How.”
“Aslan‘s How？” said several voices. “We do not know what it is.”
“It lies within the skirts of the Great Woods and it is a huge moundwhich Narnians raised in very ancient times over a very magical place， where there stood-and perhaps still stands-a very magical Stone. The Mound is all hollowed out within into galleries and caves， and the Stone is in the central cave of all. There is room in the mound for all our stores， and those of us who have most need of cover and are most accustomed to underground life can be lodged in the caves. The rest of us can lie in the wood. At a pinch all of us （except this worthy Giant） could retreat into the Mound itself， and there we should be beyond the reach of every danger except famine.”
“It is a good thing we have a learned man among us，” said Trufflehunter； but Trumpkin muttered under his breath， “Soup and celery！ I wish our leaders would think less about these old wives’ tales and more about victuals and arms.” But all approved of Cornelius‘s proposal and that very night， half an hour later， they were on the march. Before sunrise they arrived at Aslan’s How.
It was certainly an awesome place， a round green hill on top of another hill， long since grown over with trees， and one little， low doorway leading into it. The tunnels inside were a perfect maze till you got to know them， and they were lined and roofed with smooth stones， and on the stones， peering in the twilight， Caspian saw strange characters and snaky patterns， and pictures in which the form of a Lion was repeated again and again. It all seemed to belong to an even older Narnia than the Narnia of which his nurse had told him.
It was after they had taken up their quarters in and around the How that fortune began to turn against them. King Miraz‘s scouts soon found their new lair， and he and his army arrived on the edge of the woods. And as so often happens， the enemy turned out stronger than they had reckoned. Caspian’s heart sank as he saw company after company arriving. And though Miraz‘s men may have been afraid of going into the wood， they were even more afraid of Miraz， and with him in command they carried battle deeply into it and sometimes almost to the How itself. Caspian and other captains of course made many sorties into the open country. Thus there was fighting on most days and sometimes by night as well； but Caspian’s party had on the whole the worst of it.
At last there came a night when everything had gone as badly as possible， and the rain which had been falling heavily all day had ceased at nightfall only to give place to raw cold. That morning Caspian had arranged what was his biggest battle yet， and all had hung their hopes on it. He， with most of the Dwarfs， was to have fallen on the King‘s right wing at daybreak， and then， when they were heavily engaged， Giant Wimbleweather， with the Centaurs and some of the fiercest beasts， was to have broken out from another place and endeavoured to cut the King’s right off from the rest of the army. But it had all failed. No one had warned Caspian （because no one in these later days of Narnia remembered） that Giants are not at all clever. Poor Wimbleweather， though as brave as a lion， was a true Giant in that respect. He had broken out at the wrong time and from the wrong place， and both his party and Caspian‘s had suffered badly and done the enemy little harm. The best of the Bears had been hurt， a Centaur terribly wounded， and there were few in Caspian’s party who had not lost blood. It was a gloomy company that huddled under the dripping trees to eat their scanty supper.
The gloomiest of all was Giant Wimbleweather. He knew it was all his fault. He sat in silence shedding big tears which collected on the end of his nose and then fell off with a huge splash on the whole bivouac of the Mice， who had just been beginning to get warm and drowsy. They all jumped up， shaking the water out of their ears and wringing their little blankets， and asked the Giant in shrill but forcible voices whether he thought they weren‘t wet enough without this sort of thing. And then other people woke up and told the Mice they had been enrolled as scouts and not as a concert party， and asked why they couldn’t keep quiet. And Wimbleweather tiptoed away to find some place where he could be miserable in peace and stepped on somebody‘s tail and somebody （they said afterwards it was a fox） bit him. And so everyone was out of temper.
But in the secret and magical chamber at the heart of the How， King Caspian， with Cornelius and the Badger and Nikabrik and Trumpkin， were at council. Thick pillars of ancient workmanship supported the roof. In the centre was the Stone itself-a stone table，split right down the centre， and covered with what had once been writing of some kind： but ages of wind and rain and snow had almost worn them away in old times when the Stone Table had stood on the hilltop， and the Mound had not yet been built above it. They were not using the Table nor sitting round it： it was too magic a thing for any common use. They sat on logs a little way from it， and between them was a rough wooden table， on which stood a rude clay lamp lighting up their pale faces and throwing big shadows on the walls.
“If your Majesty is ever to use the Horn，” said Trufflehunter， “I think the time has now come.” Caspian had of course told them of his treasure several days ago.
