Once upon a time, there was a tiny village named Wimpleton, that rested right below a large mountain, nestled in a corner of the woods. The inhabitants of this tiny village were also very tiny; they had a light purple color to their skin and green hair on their heads. They were called Reebles. They did not wear clothing because they were accustomed to the elements , and grew fur, like that of a rabbit's, for the winter. Their homes were made out of hollowed logs, mushroom cpas, and anything that could be found on the forest floor. The world around them was massive and fantastical; tress towered above them and provided shade during warm summer days. The blades of grass around them were short tress. They lived in their little knoll and were completely unaware of everything happening outside of Wimpleton. They didn't leave Wimpleton often; they didn't even go into the grassy clearing right at the edge of the woods.
It was an ordinary day in the village. Reebles were tending to their gardens and cleaning their homes. Teenage rables twirled their hair and giggled at the cute robles who were competing to see who could lift the heaviest pine cone. Rables picked at their dresses and window shopped as they gossiped together in the streets. Some of the older robles worked on a wall that would prtect Wimpleton from dangerous beetles and spiders. These robles were looked up to with their long beards and rough hands from all the work they had done over the years.
However, just like in ever other town and village, there were the trouble makers. In Wimpleton it was group of five young Robles. Their leader was a boy older than the rest and who had been orphaned much of his life. They had thought themselves clever when they snuck away from the watchful eyes of the adults in the village.
They wandered farther and farther from the village. They laughed without a care in the world, however, when they appraoched the edge of the woods, the robles quickly became silent. The enormous field expanded into a vast green jungle. They approached it cautiously; no one said a word. Their leader reached into the depths of his courage. The roble stomped past the others, being loud and disruptive as he went.
"What are you pansies afraid of?" he playfully snarled.
"No one has ever been into the field," the most quiet of them all whispered.
"There could be beetles or spider or-" one boy was cut off from his yelling.
"SNAKES!" finished another.
Chimes of "yeahs" reached out from the small group as everyone was in agreement; the field was a scary place.
"Well," their leader said, "we don't know until we see it four ourselves!" Without hisitation, the roble turned around and romped his way through the grass.
The terror in the group washed away at the sight of their courageous friend. Grins broke out amongst them as they followed his lead, their light spirits had returned to them. Joking and laughing commenced again as they crashed through the green stalks. They playfully fought like young robles often do. They crushed newly sprouting grass and kicked dirt at each other.
Everything was fine and light-hearted until they came to a clearing. The commotion of boys came to an abrupt stop. Again the group's spirit had died down. Everyone spread out at the edge of a clearing in the grass as if they were trying to catch a glimpse of a parade. It was not a parade, but a sight none of them had ever seen before, or heard about; a giant was laying limp in the center. Hushed whispers broke out among the group.
"Do you think it's dead?" one roble pondered outloud.
"Maybe it's just sleeping?" another roble wondered.
