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Kria!, Kria!, Kria!
The flat expanse of land around us was immense, and everywhere birds were nesting. Ptarmigans, Curlews, and most obviously, Arctic Terns. The Arctic Terns had recently flown 10,000 miles from the Antarctic (a journey they'd repeat at summer's end), and were unimpressed with our little overland jaunt. To them, we were simply an annoyance at best, and a threat at worst. They swarmed the sky and took turns dive-bombing from behind my head, loudly screeching "Kria!" (which consequently is the Icelandic name for the bird) as they came within inches, then speeding off to let the next tern have a turn.
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