![]() ![]() ![]() The glare of ice erasing dimension, distance, subjecting sense to mirage and illusion. Clouds mottled by reflections of water holes in the plains of ice. Foghorns, smothered gun reports along the coast. Millennial bergs from the glaciers, morbid, silent except for waves breaking on their flanks, the deceiving sound of shoreline where there was no shore. The Inuit in skin boats, breathing, breathing, rhythmic suck of frigid air, iced paddles dipping, spray freezing, sleek back rising, jostle, the boat torn, spiraling down. Vikings down the cracking winds, steering through fog by the polarized light of sun-stones. These waters, thought Quoyle, haunted by lost ships, fishermen, explorers gurgled down into sea holes as black as a dog's throat. ![]()
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