Soon Iceland was far behind us and we were high in the air, the sun over one wing tip. Sarah was sitting beside me and Michael and our parents sat in front of us. The journey was quiet compared to our trip there, with Grandpa’s long story about our great-grandfather.
“They never end happily, do they?” Sarah said. “The old Viking sagas. They’re not like fairy tales; they don’t end happily.”
“No, they don’t,” I said. Then it struck me how one saga kept leading into the next. Story after story. “But Sarah,” I said, raising an eyebrow, “when you think of it, the sagas never, ever really end.”