They began to climb the hills and into a brightening world. Now turning they could see the beach with its faint dark patch where was their camp. But the ships were hid in the little river which here emptied into the sea.
Full morning now. They came to a pleasant hill. It jutted out like a headland into a fertile, untilled vale. A forest of cypress and wild olive crowned the hill, and the shade received them with a sense of rest.
But Theria did not rest. She began to explore. And in a depression of the hillside she came upon a full flowing spring. With a hasty invocation she knelt to drink and as she did so, the birds flew up in flocks with a whir of wings.
Instantly she recalled the oracle which had been given to the Sicilian youth, Hyllos.
Rebuild your city upon a hill,
Where trees invite the birds.
“Eëtíon, Eëtíon,” she called, and as he and the slave came running:
“Oh, I have found the site of our city, truly, I think I have found it!”
Reverently they drank of the spring. How unbelievably sweet after the stale water of the ship.
“It tastes like our own Castalia water,” she said.