I love it when Icelandic sagas attribute every microscopic inconvenience that befalls a hero on his journeys to “witchcraft”. It makes me picture a really bored witch just micromanaging the hell out of this one particular guy’s daily travails.
“So you…took a foot of rope off their lines?”
The witch bares her teeth. “I took sixteen itches.”
“Why?”
“They only budgeted for fifteen inches of error.” The witch cackles. “Suffer!”