We set off in car. Dark misty day, the lava fields feel martian. Eyelids propped by coffee, I now keep wheel steady on road. Then we see the vents puff puff puffing into the air.

A cackling steam vent into which a witch was thrown

Off we step to see the the place where a cackling witch was thrown down, ending her reign of terror. Of course, I cannot help but think that an innocent woman was possibly blamed for bad luck and thrown in here as well. Apes, everywhere. And in the Icelandic sagas—like all sagas—one can see the apes for miles.