On the snow-heavy eve of December 19th, the eighth Yule Lad lumbers forth from the ancient crags above Iceland. Known as Skyrgámur – Skyr Gobbler, he is a spirit of bottomless hunger—round-bellied, broad-handed, and driven by a craving older than memory.

When night settles over the farmsteads, he slips into homes with surprising stealth for one so stout. Drawn to the cool glow of the dairy stores, he tears open lids and feasts upon skyr with wild devotion, devouring vat after vat until his great belly strains like a snow-laden roof. By morning, nothing remains but scraped-clean tubs and the faint echo of his satisfied groan.

Though no longer the terror he once was, Skyrgámur still roams the Yuletide nights—greedy, jovial, and leaving small gifts for kindly children, even as he hungers for one more taste of the creamy treasure he loves above all else.