Rocky Ithaca,,,,,,seagirt Ithaca,,,,,Sunny ithaca,,,,,,, there are no mares in Ithaca because there are no meadows. They have goats and deer and hare, but not horses because rugged terrain slants down to sea. No room for pasture or bridle paths. There is a haven at the coast of Ithaca, named for Phorcys, the old god of sleep, with an olive tree branching around it. Nearby is the home of the naiads Odysseus would regularly pray and sacrifice to. Above are slopes, decked in forests. High up, Laertes tends to a plot of land, covered with rows and rows of pears, apples, figs, olives. Clusters of grapes year-round. There are so many dogs, hunting dogs, and they adore the prince, rubbing against his legs with quiet welcome. There's a stone rimmed fountain where the people of Ithaca drew their water, on top a stone erected to the nymphs, where travellers pass to leave their offerings. Here is Argos, Odysseus' old hound, waiting for his master. There is Ithaca, waiting for its king.