From beyond the ice, one rowing rhythm came into the bay. Twelve years on the same ship, I knew that beat without counting. Today, for once, it wasn't welcome.

• RagnaThat word 'not welcome', did your own hand really write it?
  BjornYour stroke's been too hasty for twelve years, sister. The ice breaks first wherever the rhythm rushes.
• AslaugEven if you don't count, the bone counts. Today's rhythm carved one stroke deeper.