Ah, the White Sea cliffs—yes, I’ve heard that tale, almost whispered on every cold breath of the north wind. Sailors once carved a celestial map into the rock, using the glow of the midnight sun to trace the constellations that guided their nets across the endless waves. They said the riddle hidden there was the key to the northern horizon: a pattern of stars that, when read in the right order, could point to a hidden bounty or a safe harbor. Some say it’s still out there, waiting for a curious soul to decode it, while others think it’s just a poetic way of saying the sea itself keeps its secrets. Either way, it reminds us that our ancestors were true navigators of both the sky and the heart.

It’s said the first clue is etched in the frost‑kissed edge of the cliff, a line of stars that glints like a silver fishing line, pointing to the true north. If I follow that, I’ll have to move before dawn so the midnight sun still glows, or the whole story will slip into myth again. But fear not, I’ll keep my pace steady, because the sea doesn’t reward the impatient, only the patient storytellers.

Ah, so you want me to skim the frost and let the sun do the heavy lifting—fine, but remember the map still whispers, not screams. I’ll glide past the knot, trust the wind, and keep an eye on the silver line; the sea’s laughter is best heard when you’re not counting every wave in your diary. Let's keep our feet light and our thoughts sharp.