‘Do you know why the lakes were feared, in particular?’ ‘Tell me.’ His gaze went distant. ‘In winter, when the ice thickens and cracks, it makes . . . the most terrible sound,’ he said. ‘It’s like being underwater, hearing your own heart and blood. The roar when you hold a cup to your ear.’ His throat shifted. ‘I think it’s the song of the womb. A sound we know before we breathe, before words come to us. Some find it beautiful, but I see why the Hróthi used to fear it. I suppose it’s why they started to imagine spirits in the first place. When the ice splits over and over, it sounds like a
...more
