He fetched the wooden bowl and held it to her lips. Aravis couldn‘t help making a face when she tasted it， for goats’ milk is rather a shock when you are not used to it. But she was very thirsty and managed to drink it all and felt better when she had finished.
“Now， my daughter， you may sleep when you wish，” said the Hermit. “For your wounds are washed and dressed and though they smart they are no more serious than if they had been the cuts of a whip. It must have been a very strange lion； for instead of catching you out of the saddle and getting his teeth into you， he has only drawn his claws across your back. Ten scratches： sore， but not deep or dangerous.”
“I say！” said Aravis. “I have had luck.”
“Daughter，” said the Hermit， “I have now lived a hundred and nine winters in this world and have never yet met any such thing as Luck. Them is something about all this that I do not understand： but if ever we need to know it， you may be sure that we shall.”
“And what about Rabadash and his two hundred horse？” asked Aravis.
“They will not pass this way， I think，” said the Hermit. “They must have found a ford by now well to the east of us. From there they will try to ride straight to Anvard.”