The_Complete_Chronicles_of_Narnia_(volumes_1-7,_in_order_of_publication)

"Now," said Bree. "All that about galloping for a day and a night, like in stories, can't
really be done. It must be walk and trot: but brisk trots and short walks. And whenever
we walk you two humans can slip off and walk too. Now. Are you ready, Hwin? Off we
go. Narnia and the North!"
At first it was delightful. The night had now been going on for so many hours that the
sand had almost finished giving back all the sun-heat it had received during the day, and
the air was cool, fresh, and clear. Under the moonlight the sand, in every direction and as
far as they could see, gleamed as if it were smooth water or a great silver tray. Except for
the noise of Bree's and Hwin's hoofs there was not a sound to be heard. Shasta would
nearly have fallen asleep if he had not had to dismount and walk every now and then.
This seemed to last for hours. Then there came a time when there was no longer any
moon. They seemed to ride in the dead darkness for hours and hours. And after that there
came a moment when Shasta noticed that he could see Bree's neck and head in front of
him a little more clearly than before; and slowly, very slowly, he began to notice the vast
grey flatness on every side. It looked absolutely dead, like something in a dead world;
and Shasta felt quite terribly tired and noticed that he was getting cold and that his lips
were dry. And all the time the squeak of the leather, the jingle of the bits, and the noise of
the hoofs-not Propputtypropputty as it would be on a hard road, but Thubbudythubbudy
on the dry sand.
At last, after hours of riding, far away on his right there came a single long streak of paler
grey, low down on the horizon. Then a streak of red. It was the morning at last, but
without a single bird to sing about it. He was glad of the walking bits now, for he was
colder than ever.
Then suddenly the sun rose and everything changed in a moment. The grey sand turned
yellow and twinkled as if it was strewn with diamonds. On their left the shadows of
Shasta and Hwin and Bree and Aravis, enormously long, raced beside them. The double
peak of Mount Pire, far ahead, flashed in the sunlight and Shasta saw they were a little
out of the course. "A bit left, a bit left," he sang out. Best of all, when you looked back,
Tashbaan was already small and remote. The Tombs were quite invisible: swallowed up
in that single, jagged-edged hump which was the city of the Tisroc. Everyone felt better.
But not for long. Though Tashbaan looked very far away when they first saw it, it refused
to look any further away as they went on. Shasta gave up looking back at it, for it only
gave him the feeling that they were not moving at all. Then the light became a nuisance.
The glare of the sand made his eyes ache: but he knew he mustn't shut them. He must
screw them up and keep on looking ahead at Mount Pire and shouting out directions.
Then came the heat. He noticed it for the first time when he had to dismount and walk: as
he slipped down to the sand the heat from it struck up into his face as if from the opening
of an oven door. Next time it was worse. But the third time, as his bare feet touched the
sand he screamed with pain and got one foot back in the stirrup and the other half over
Bree's back before you could have said knife.