To the empty chairs, which were never filled again. "There's no one out there," he said to himself. «Tonight the jólasveinar will come and bring me sweets.» What, then, had woken him up? A noise. Or maybe the end of a dream. Nevertheless… Not a sound, Vignir remembered. It had been something else. Something he had heard, of Phone Number Data course, something that came from outside . One verse. Tremendous, profound, bestial. Feline . The child buried his head under the covers. There's no one out there. There's no one out there. There's no one out there. He repeated that phrase several times under his breath, under the illusion that there really was nothing beyond the window, except the white Mosfell and the snow-capped rocks.

And the melancholy wind and… Jolakottur . The cat waiting outside. The cat came from who knows where to devour the little, lazy and disobedient ones. Those like Vignir. No, they were just legends. Fairy tales that people told to children to make them work on those festive days. And to those who didn't have a new suit, to those who hadn't received one for carding wool, to those who like Vignir had gone running, then... A blast of cold air hit him. Vignir pulled the blankets tighter around him, wondering where the cold was coming from. It was fear, he said to himself. The terror for the cat who was waiting for the right moment to leap and enter. That's when he understood. The child instinctively turned towards the window and… It was open. Outside, the darkness seemed as solid as the rocks of Dimmuborgir.