21. The Giant
The giant lifted his head sleepily. He was infuriated he had been awakened from his slumber, but the stench of Foundlings was too much for him to bear. He decided the best course of action was to stomp on the tiny stinking humans and then return to his sleep. Pesky little Foundlings. They were like unrelenting flies. He had been having a good dream about a juicy roasted lamb, almost able to taste the soft meat on his large tongue. Now that taste had gone sour and rotten as he smelt the Foundlings. The smell made him feel dizzy and queasy. The sooner they were dead, the better.
He pulled himself from the ground, tearing up clods of mud and grass that had grown over him and entangled him in a warm cocoon over time. He stretched an arm out, and rubbed his eyes until he felt wide awake. Heaving himself up, he yawned leisurely, stretching out his limbs, getting ready for a fight.
His brethren, who slept also on the plain of grass, had not stirred. The giant hadn't expected them too. They were several centuries older than him, and they had sunk so far into their sleep that it was likely they would never wake again.
The giant himself was only two thousand, three hundred and forty eight years old, compared to the eldest in his herd, who was five thousand, six hundred and eighty two. He was the youngest in the herd, and had not yet reached the sinking stage in his life, where he would be able to fall into such a deep sleep that next to nothing could arouse him. He would no longer need meat, as his body would feed from the earth. Oh, how he longed for that day. Only war of epic proportions could wrench a giant from that slumber.
Now, however, he was in an extremely bad mood, and was ready to deal out pain to the people who had dared to shatter his dream.
Far below on the ground, the little group stared up in shock at what had been one of many small mounds in the plain of grass. The giant towered above them, stretching and cracking its knuckles. Charlie couldn't have taken his eyes off the creature looming in front of him, even if he'd wanted to.
Its jet black skin was cracked and crumbling, like very dry clay. This skin was almost obscured though, because the giant was covered from head to toe in moss and grass. Muscles bulged out of thick arms that led to rough hands that had no fingernails. Its legs were like tree trunks: thick, sturdy and terrifying. One kick and they could all be dead.
Its nose was large and squished, like it had run into a boulder, and its face was flat and circular. Its mouth was just a large gap in its face.
Its most disturbing feature, however, was its eyes. Many colours swirled within their depths: blue and green and red and yellow. They were large and round, retaining a hunted, terrified look that the giant used to confuse its prey.
Contrary to this horror in its eyes the giant swung a great fist, punching a crater into the soft mud two metres away from where they stood. It roared.
Inside the shop, Tim Lambert's smoothie had dropped to the floor, the remains of the drink dribbling out on the dirty, unswept floor. His mouth was a circle of shock, his eyes the size of Olympic gold medals.
The little group was still frozen in shock and horror. The giant roared again, snapping them out of their state.
“Make for the mountains!” yelled Jason. They began to run, trying to get out of the danger zone.
However, before he had run two steps, Charlie tripped on of the broken parts of the rusty motorbikes, sending him careering into Phoenix, and the pair of them tumbled to the ground. Charlie felt a warm, slightly sticky substance oozing from his leg. He'd managed to cut himself on the motorbike part.
