The eastern.flowing river， which was pouring from the higher mountains at the western end of the range， was far too swift and too broken with rapids for them to think of swimming it； but after some casting about， up and down the bank， they found a place shallow enough to wade. The roar and clatter of water， the great swirl against the Horses‘ fetlocks， the cool， stirring air and the darting dragonflies， filled Shasta with a strange excitement.
“Friends， we are in Archenland！” said Bree proudly as he splashed and churned his way out on the Northern bank. “I think that river we’ve just crossed is called the Winding Arrow.”
“I hope we‘re in time，” murmured Hwin.
