"Yohili ec Atvatabar?" we asked of Plothoy.
"Dohili!" he replied, pointing to a continent in the southwest. The southwest in the interior world, it should be stated, corresponds to the southeast on the outer earth. Atvatabar, then, lay underneath the Atlantic Ocean.
"Yohod ec dohi moni ar dohi miolicd gliod sedi?" (What is the name of the nearest great city?) we asked.
"Kioram," replied Plothoy. "Dohili ed ec fequi ohymtlit neric tyi caydoh docd." (There it is, five hundred miles due southeast.)
We looked in the direction indicated with our glasses and plainly saw the white marble buildings of a large city not three degrees above the plane of our position. Further off, in the haze of distance, a mighty continent unrolled its landscapes, until it was merged in the brightness of the sunlight above us.
All this time Plothoy's companion circumnavigated the ship on his swift wings. We inquired his name.
"Lecholt," said Plothoy, "omt ohi orca ec o wayleal." (And he also is a wayleal.)
"What is the name of the sun above us?" we inquired.
"Swang," said Plothoy.
Good! we would sail direct to Kioram, the principal port of Atvatabar.