After they had ridden for several hours down the valley， it widened out and they could see what was ahead of them. The river which they had been following here joined a broader river， wide and turbulent， which flowed from their left to their right， towards the east. Beyond this new river a delightful country rose gently in low hills， ridge beyond ridge， to the Northern Mountains themselves. To the right there were rocky pinnacles， one or two of them with snow clinging to the ledges. To the left， pine.clad slopes， frowning cliffs， narrow gorges， and blue peaks stretched away as far as the eye could reach. Shasta could no longer make out Mount Pire. Straight ahead the mountain range sank to a wooded saddle which of course must be the pass from Archenland into Narnia.
“Broo.hoo.hoo， the North， the green North！” neighed Bree： and certainly the lower hills looked greener and fresher than anything that Aravis and Shasta， with their southern.bred eyes， had ever imagined. Spirits rose as they clattered down to the water’s.meet of the two rivers.