(Etched into a great standing stone outside Himinháll, painted with soot and ochre.)
Hear me, kin of the mountain and sea,
for I carve these words that none may forget.
Odin stands upon the heights of Asgard, the sky his cloak, the storm his crown. Each month, when the moon wanes, he raises his hand and calls thunder from the heavens. His bolt strikes the sea, and the ice groans and splits apart. The waters break, the frost recedes, and the Isles are spared the hunger of endless winter.
We gather on the cliffs to watch, to sing, to feel the crack of his power roll through our bones. The Shattering of the Ice is not just his duty, but our covenant with him: so long as he breaks the ice, the fields of Midgard shall bloom, the forges of Nidavellir shall burn, and the groves of Alfheim shall thrive.
Some say he is distant, dwelling above us in Asgard’s cloud-palace. Yet we know his voice in the thunder and his hand in the storm. Each Shattering is proof that Odin has not forsaken us, that his watch over the Isles endures.
Remember this, kin: the cold will always creep, the sea will always seek to close. But Odin will always break it. His lightning keeps the path clear, his storm keeps us alive.
— Skald Hjorn Stoneshout, Himinháll