This day started out like any other day, launching the boat we set out for a day’s hunting. The sun warmed our skin, and the Akvavit warmed our stomachs. Heading out between the mainland and the Lofoten islands we watched the ocean for any signs of disturbance. Usually the diving of the Cormorants showed us where the cod gathered, but today the ocean was so quiet. No Cormorants, no Otters, no Sea Eagles, no Great Auks. So Rutger scanned the skies and shook his cloak of Auk beaks. Their silence put the fear of Thor into his and our hearts.
We turned our boat for the nearest land and leaned on our oars, anyone watching would have thought that a dragon was hunting us. But there are worse things then dragons. Beaching our boat, we ran for the longhouse, calling in our kin. As the weight of the air closed in on us, we put up the barricades, last used when Bluetooths warriors came our way. Rutger called to Thor to stop, as thunderous rain beat against our stout roof. But when a god urinates, nothing stops them. The path to Asgard lay before us.
Footnotes. At first I saw the tangled roof in the prompt picture, but later the picture remained me of Cod drying in the wind of remote Artic islands. It is a tangled web I weave tonight.