10 nauseous days. 10 grueling nights. But we keep rowing,

…and rowing,

…and rowing.

Rowing until I think my arms will break.
Rowing until the Gods themselves will shake,
of our endless labor.

Rowing across the end of the world.

“Vaki, Angantýr! vekr þik Hervǫr,
eingadóttir ykkr Tófu!
Selðu ór haugi hvassan mæki
þann’s Svafrlama slógu dvergar!”

We chant into the night, singing to Angantýr, Heiðrekr and Hlöð; the story of Fornyrðislag being the only chant we could all remember. If only fictional characters could save us from our fate. They waited on the other side the ocean. A green land. Our enemies.

Day, Night. Day, Night. Rowing into the sunset, and away from its rise.

20 days. Our food supplies are scarce, and we are going week. Eric believes we followed the wrong star. We come from the land of the ice and snow, but now we have no land. Nothing but miles and miles of poisonous water.

“Kust Daar!” (Land Ho!)