There seemed no end to the lilies. Day after day from all those miles and leagues of flowers there rose a smell which Lucy found it very hard to describe; sweet—yes, but not at all sleepy or overpowering, a fresh, wild, lonely smell that seemed to get into your brain and make you feel that you could go up mountains at a run or wrestle with an elephant. She and Caspian said to one another, "I feel that I can't stand much more of this, yet I don't want it to stop".
If you creep out down to the river in the light of a
full moon, you'll see her there, Old Crane Woman.
She'll be standing on one leg, still as can be, and
you'll know her by her frayed grey and white dress
and her long, thin arms with the sharp, sticking-out
elbows. She'll be staring into the river, for Old
Crane Woman knows that inspiration comes always
at the side of the water, there on the edge, in that
troubling threshold place between one element and
another.
