I am being watched. From the water behind me, a fierce gaze burns into my back. The first light of day dances off the spindrift, whirling atop the mountains across the fjord. I turn instinctively, scrutinising the water. The snow beneath my deep-soled boots crunches, compacting into the dock as I turn to look. A glimmer of white glides beneath the surface and is then concealed. A splash. A spray. The deep inhalation of air. And then I see him. His head breaks the surface; his neck craned in my direction. The sheen of light-infused water passes over his white flesh. The darkness of his enquiring eyes. We are two beings that appear to be disconnected. He, a creature of the ocean that twists and rolls with fluid freedom. And me, upright and insubstantial, covered in layers to protect the fragility of my own life, free only to amble the coastlines. Our worlds seem completely detached. While there may be little to tangibly connect the two of us, something does. He looks into my eyes, and I into his. I see him and he sees me. For man and whale to be locked in such a moment is the closest thing I can describe to magic. This is Hvaldimir.