Day 124: 03 Dec 2010
We chanted through the sparse daylight hours, deep into the night. Our words were different than those before. The words to raise the God of the Sky had been quiet, soft, almost whispers. That was his language. The God of the Land -- guttural. Harsh. Deep. It hurt our human throats, but we continued.
Late in the night -- I do not know how late -- we heard the rumbling. The ice under our feet started to splinter and crack. My men kept chanting, ignoring the earthquake-level shaking all around us. As the first segments broke the ice, we stopped chanting and backed up as quickly as we could. The God of the Land broke through. He raised up to his full height, blocking out the moon with his massive bulk.
His roar shook the ground more than his rebirth had.