Fledge came lower and lower in wide circles. The icy peaks rose up higher and higher above. The air came up warmer and sweeter every moment， so sweet that it almost brought the tears to your eyes. Fledge was now gliding with his wings spread out motionless on each side， and his hoofs pawing for the ground. The steep green hill was rushing towards them. A moment later he alighted on its slope， a little awkwardly. The children rolled off， fell without hurting themselves on the warm， fine grass， and stood up， panting a little.
They were three.quarters of the way up the hill， and set out at once to climb to the top. （I don’t think Fledge could have managed this without his wings to balance him and to give him the help of a flutter now and then.） All round the very top of the hill ran a high wall of green turf. Inside the wall， trees were growing. Their branches hung out over the wall； their leaves showed not only green but also blue and silver when the wind stirred them. When the travellers reached the top they walked nearly all the way round it outside the green wall before they found the gates： high gates of gold， fast shut， facing due east.