to. He had travelled about ten miles from the sea, as the crow
flies. The bare, undulating wolds sloped straight down toward it;
the water glittered in the distance; and on the horizon he was just
able to make out Swaylone's Island. Looking north, the land
continued sloping upward as far as he could see. Over the crest--
that is to say, some miles away--a line of black, fantastic-shaped
rocks of quite another character showed themselves; this was probably
Threal. Behind these again, against the sky, perhaps fifty or even a
hundred miles off, were the peaks of Lichstorm, most of them covered
with greenish snow that glittered in the sunlight.

They were stupendously high and of weird contours. Most of them were
conical to the top, but from the top, great masses of mountain
balanced themselves at what looked like impossible angles--
overhanging without apparent support. A land like that promised
something new, he thought: extraordinary inhabitants. The idea took
shape in his mind to go there, and to travel as swiftly as possible,
it might even be feasible to get there before sunset. It was less
the mountains themselves that attracted him than the country which
lay beyond--the prospect of setting eyes on the blue sun, which he
judged to be the wonder of wonders in Tormance.

The direct route was over the hills, but that was out of the
question, because of the killing heat and the absence of shade. He
guessed, however, that the valley would not take him far out of his
way, and decided to keep to that for the time being, much as he hated
and feared it. Into the hotbed of life, therefore, he once more
swung himself.

Once down, he continued to follow the windings of the valley for