“I wish I could eat grass！” thought Shasta. “It’s no good going back to Anvard， it‘ll all be besieged. I’d better get lower down into the valley and see if I can get anything to eat.”
So he went on downhill （the thick dew was cruelly cold to his bare feet） till he came into a wood. There was a kind of track running through it and he had not followed this for many minutes when he heard a thick and rather wheezy voice saying to him.
“Good morning， neighbour.”
Shasta looked round eagerly to find the speaker and presently saw a small， prickly person with a dark face who had just come out from among the trees. At least， it was small for a person but very big indeed for a hedgehog， which was what it was.
“Good morning，” said Shasta. “But I‘m not a neighbour. In fact I’m a stranger in these parts.”
“Ah？” said the Hedgehog inquiringly.
“I‘ve come over the mountains.from Archenland， you know.”
“Ha， Archenland，” said the Hedgehog. “That’s a terrible long way. Never been there myself.”
“And I think， perhaps，” said Shasta， “someone ought to be told that there‘s an army of savage Calormenes attacking Anvard at this very moment.”