The sun-swept fjord has been constructed with real flair. Geirfinnur Vidarsson admires the build as only an engineer can. Steeply sloping snow-capped walls and a firth perfectly aligned with the rising fireball, bathing the glaucous waves orange.
He steps with care through the lava field, wary of the razor-edged cinder cones lurking beneath the soft green moss. Geirfinnur is alone in this landscape. He utters a cloud, and it drifts fluffy across the dome of the sky.
Next, he tries to forge a man and a woman, but fails. Head bowed, he turns back towards town.