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They travelled across Ettinsmoor for many days，saving the bacon and living chiefly on the moor-fowl（they were not，of course，talking birds）which Eustace and the wiggle shot. Jill rather envied Eustace for being able to shoot；he had learned it on his voyage with King Caspian. As there were countless streams on the moor，they were never short of water. Jill thought that when， in books，people live on what they shoot，it never tells you what a long，smelly，messy job it is plucking and cleaning dead birds， and how cold it makes your fingers. But the great thing was that they met hardly any giants. One giant saw them，but he only roared with laughter and stumped away about his own business.
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.”
“What about that ？”said Scrubb suddenly，pointing upstream to their left. Then they all looked and saw the last thing they were expecting—a bridge. And what a bridge，too ！It was a huge，single arch that spanned the gorge from cliff-top to cliff-top；and the crown of that arch was as high above the cliff-tops as the dome of St. Paul’s is above the street.
“Why，it must be a giants’ bridge ！”said Jill.
“Or a sorcerer’s，more likely,”said Puddleglum. “We’ve got to look out for enchantments in a place like this. I think it’s a trap. I think it’ll turn into mist and melt away just when we’re out on the middle of it.”
“Oh，for goodness’ sake，don’t be such a wet blanket,” said Scrubb. “Why on earth shouldn’t it be a proper bridge ？”
