The icebergs continued their patient search. It took them ten thousand years to float a mile. But they all agreed it would be worth it when their time came to be the one to wreck the ship, to crack a hull, possibly host a survivor or two. Then, when the humans died, their bodies would leave a sweet man-tattoo for a while, before the birds came. The bragging rights would last a full age. Until another ship approached on the horizon and it would start all over again.

One day one of them made a discovery. We are going the wrong way, he said to the others. They all groaned in woe, which sounded a lot like air being let out of a car tire. And so they turned to pursue a different direction. But it did not matter. Soon their time would be over, and ships would be able to safely steer clear of their frozen decaying bodies.