The Fish can Sing by Halldór Laxness

Our horse, Gráni, was pastured on a distant moor out at Sogin, and occasionally he had to be fetched when he was needed for work. It is no exaggeration to say that at that time, Sogin was one of the farthest points of the atlas. There is a modern town at Sogin now, and no one who enters this paradise could suspect that a few decades ago there were horse-grazings there. When Gráni had to be fetched, it was a journey that took the best part of a day. At Sogin there was a little moorland brook called the Soga Stream; it was comparatively easy to jump over it. And yet this stream for some reason or other formed a most sinister impression on my grandmother's mind. She never really wanted me to go to fetch the horse by myself, but always in company with some other boy who was also going to fetch a horse and who could pull me out of the stream if I were to fall in.

"Be careful of the Soga Stream", was always the last thing she said when we were setting off. And when we arrived back with the horse or horses in the evening, the first thing she always asked was: "Was there much water in the Soga Stream today? " If there were ever a downpour when Gráni was out on the moor and there was a chance that he would have to be fetched in a hurry, the old woman could be heard muttering, "My, my, what a lot of water there must be in the Soga Stream today."