About the tenth day， they reached a place where the country changed. They came to the northern edge of the moor and looked down a long， steep slope into a different， and grimmer， land. At the bottom of the slope were cliffs： beyond these， a country of high mountains， dark precipices， stony valleys， ravines so deep and narrow that one could not see far into them， and rivers that poured out of echoing gorges to plunge sullenly into black depths. Needless to say， it was Puddleglum who pointed out a sprinkling of snow on the more distant slopes.
“But there‘ll be more on the north side of them， I shouldn’t wonder，” he added.
It took them some time to reach the foot of the slope and， when they did， they looked down from the top of the cliffs at a river running below them from west to east. It was walled in by precipices on the far side as well as on their own， and it was green and sunless， full of rapids and waterfalls. The roar of it shook the earth even where they stood.
“The bright side of it is，” said Puddleglum， “that if we break our necks getting down the cliff， then we‘re safe from being drowned in the river.”
