She was a sad creature. Too wicked to be good, but too tasty to be safe from the hunters' harpoons.

Her evil siblings ruled the frozen seas while she had to play dead just to eat.

It wasn’t fair, but what could she do?

A storm brought her the answer. As the waves clashed in a thunderous chorus. As the thunder rumbled, filling the air with terror, she understood.

She clad herself in shells. Shells that clattered as she moved, shells that echoed the rumbles of the storm.

Armored in noise, the beast was no longer sad.

Skeljúngur,

Medieval Icelanders saw the whales who lived in the Scandinavian Arctic as potentially magical and dangerous, associated with and controlled by evil beings or malignant forces that res...

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