On the island of βrju Vindúr, life was defined by directions of three winds. A treacherous wind blew in from the ocean, while bitter cold wind swept down from mountains. Winds from valleys sneaked in over green hills, blasting unexpectedly.
One at a time would have been acceptable, but usually two or three gusted through the town of Bakkafjörður all at once. Merely walking up or down a street necessitated clinging to a wall, or hanging on for dear life on a ship rope strung along streets.
Needless to say, villagers were noted for exceptional muscular development. Even so, none could walk up or down streets without assistance. However, one man had this skill, and he mocked other villagers as he strolled along, hands in pockets, posture straight. Only his hair waved as winds blew.
Eiður was such a man. No humility existed in him. Pride emanated off him. Oh, how others grew to hate him.
He had the chance to leave the island on a ship delivering goods (as you can imagine little could be grown there). Hopping aboard, he waved at villagers who wished all sorts evil to descend upon him.
Eiður returned after a month with big smiles and stories to tell. But he had no idea that a month away from three winds had changed him.
He stepped off the ship and was immediately thrown to his hands and knees. Trying stand up, Eiður found himself again creeping like a dog along streets to his house. He could not stand. He could not pull himself up on the ropes.
From there on, Eiður moved from one spot to another, crawling. Villagers watched him. Justification was theirs.
(In your face!)
This language is Icelandic, taken from a site, Translating English to Icelandic.
|Company of Heroes|
This story is strictly metaphorical. No such island exists in Iceland, altho there are many other amazing islands and land forms!