And the day came when Athelvok should go. And Hilnaric said to him:

"Will you not indeed most surely come back again, having just looked over
the summit of Poltarnees?"

Athelvok answered: "I will indeed come back, for thy voice is more
beautiful than the hymn of the priests when they chant and praise the Sea,
and though many tributary seas ran down into Oriathon and he and all the
others poured their beauty into one pool below me, yet would I return
swearing that thou were fairer than they."

And Hilnaric answered:

"The wisdom of my heart tells me, or old knowledge or prophecy, or some
strange lore, that I shall never hear thy voice again. And for this I give
thee my forgiveness."

But he, repeating the oath that he had sworn, set out, looking often
backwards until the slope became to step and his face was set to the rock.
It was in the morning that he started, and he climbed all the day with
little rest, where every foot-hole was smooth with many feet. Before he
reached the top the sun disappeared from him, and darker and darker grew
the Inner Lands. Then he pushed on so as to see before dark whatever thing
Poltarnees had to show. The dusk was deep over the Inner Lands, and the
lights of cities twinkled through the sea-mist when he came to
Poltarnees's summit, and the sun before him was not yet gone from the sky.

And there below him was the old wrinkled Sea, smiling and murmuring song.
And he nursed little ships with gleaming sails, and in his hands were old