“Thank goodness，” said Edmund， “the door must have swung open of its own accord.” He forgot all about Lucy and went towards the light， which he thought was the open door of the wardrobe. But instead of finding himself stepping out into the spare room he found himself stepping out from the shadow of some thick dark fir trees into an open place in the middle of a wood.
There was crisp， dry snow under his feet and more snow lying on the branches of the trees. Overhead there was paleblue sky， the sort of sky one sees on a fine winter day in the morning. Straight ahead of him he saw between the tree. trunks the sun， just rising， very red and clear. Everything was perfectly still， as if he were the only living creature in that country. There was not even a robin or a squirrel among the trees， and the wood stretched as far as he could see in every direction. He shivered.
He now remembered that he had been looking for Lucy： and also how unpleasant he had been to her about her “imaginary country” which now turned out not to have been imaginary at all. He thought that she must be somewhere quite close and so he shouted， “Lucy！ Lucy！ I‘m here too.Edmund.”
There was no answer.