"Now we must go, said the great seal, Sigrid's-guide. "This is your land. Every year at midsummer we will come to the shore. And you must sing of the print of the wave and the ploughed sea-acres, of the pine and the shale and the fern and the rose. And while you sing, we shall dance. But if ever you no longer sing, your land will be lost as the cobweb in the wind, as the horses in the wave. And you will take grey skins and join us in the sea."