An Icelander looking at you, who you cannot see, creates your desire to be seen in a way matching your desire for the Icelander — to strip away the cold gaze for intimacy, and to be in the secret group looking out.
People, this is chess.
Here’s one of the Trolls of Harnarfjall, on its annual pilgrimage to feed on the sea.
Slathering at the mouth in a field of old bones, as trolls will. There’s a whole herd of then where the foot of this fell turns into the flat of the sea. You can find them on cold days this time of year. In the summer they’ve gone to ground in the hills.