In this continent it is the humans who are the outsiders.
“Men are not old here
Only the rocks are old, and the sheathing ice.
Only the restless sea, chafing the frozen land.
Ever moving, matched by the ceaselessly-circling sun
Wild birds go wandering over the face of the snow;
Bright, swift, harsh crying, strange and heedless.
Transient in time over the mountains,
As we are transient, strangers in an old land.”
Excerpt from:The Quiet Land by Frank Debenham