It's not cold enough here.
Why am I fighting for this barren rock island that never freezes? Everyone knows that without the freeze the life of spring is stunted, held back by the leftover entanglements of last summer. Vitality needs a path!
The trees hardly grow here, the ones that do are no bigger than a proper man's thigh.
For the love of Sif, goddess of our earth, she only lets them burn the peat and moss that comes from the ground for warmth.
Who wants the sweltering, inhospitable rock? Leave it to the tattooed and blue-faced barbarians who run naked into battle and attack with weapon, fang and claw - indiscriminate and unfearing of their fate.
I will take the Fjord over the Moore anytime.
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