Now, kinsmen, I will tell of the time Thor, son of Odin, strode into the hall of Útgarða-Loki, the giant who mocked gods and men alike. It was a hall of illusions, where strength was tested and every boast turned sour upon the tongue. Loki, ever boastful, swore he could eat faster than any, yet was beaten by a spirit who devoured not only food but flesh and bone, and even the trenchers upon the table. Thor, angered by the mocking laughter, swore to prove his might.

First, Útgarða-Loki bade him drink from a horn so vast it seemed endless. Thor raised it to his lips and drank deep, three great gulps, yet the horn was scarcely less full. The giants roared with laughter. Again Thor swore to show his power. They set before him a cat to lift, small enough—or so it seemed. Yet when Thor bent to raise it, the creature stretched and grew, and though he strained till his muscles burned, he lifted but one paw from the floor. Once more the giants jeered.

And then Útgarða-Loki brought forth an old woman, bent and frail, her hair white as frost. ‘Wrestle her,’ he said, ‘if you have the strength you claim.’ Thor’s face darkened, for what glory is there in grappling with a withered crone? Yet he would not refuse. Into the circle they went, the gods and giants gathering close to watch.

The old woman’s name was Elli. Thor reached for her, thinking to cast her down in an instant. But she clung to him like iron roots. The harder he pressed, the stronger she seemed. Sweat sprang to his brow, his mighty arms trembled, and before all eyes the Thunderer bent to his knee. Elli forced him lower still, until at last Thor was driven down, humbled by one so feeble.

Laughter shook the hall, but not long did it ring. Later, when the truth was spoken, it was known that Elli was no mere woman, but Old Age itself. No god, no giant, no mortal may ever defeat her, for she brings all to the ground in time. Even Thor, strongest of the Æsir, could not overcome her.

Here in Vigra we remember this truth. By the market stands a circle marked out upon the sand, where men wrestle for sport and trial. Think of Thor when you see it, think of Elli. For in the circle of sand, as in life, there is always one who waits to wrestle us all. And though our youth may fight bravely, in the end it is Old Age who claims the victory.