Stavanger Bay give me daughters, send me sons, i'll make them all chosen ones

Noise assaulted her ear drums, not much more than unintelligible vibrations to her, but noise all the same. The offensive volume was more upsetting than any other of her woes, and though she quieted, shying away from the sound, she began to cry out even louder. Something, she knew intrinsically, for she didn't think or know very much, would save her if she made enough noise. Something would ward away the nebulous threat and bring her somewhere warm and comfortable. Maybe there would even be food!

Galvanized by that rosy prospect, Ragna began to cry all the louder, squealing as though tomorrow wasn't a thing.