Bedtime Giants


Perrin, September 23rd – Dustbound

I stayed with a family in Perrin and listened to the grandmother weave stories about a time long ago to her grandchild, bundled tight against the night’s chill. The little boy asked for a scary story, and this is the one she told:

Beasts once roamed these lands. Terrible monstrosities, larger than anything you have ever seen, my child. Their teeth were bigger than your head. One would be a fool to challenge these creatures, but there were brave men and women who conquered them. Though we are small, we used our minds.

These warriors sharpened stones to a razor’s edge and strapped them to wooden shafts. They mixed water with the ashes from campfires and smeared themselves to darken their skin. Blending in with the shadows of the great pine forests, hidden in the brush, lit only by the glints of moon that pierced the thick canopy, our ancestors stalked danger.

Their hearts pounded, sweat collecting on their brows. Hands wrapped tight around their weapons. A sharp cry in the night as they revealed themselves to the creatures. Wind blowing in their faces as they ran with spears raised. Stone tips piercing the monster’s thick hide.

I’ve seen their remains, these abominations. I’ve stood inside their bellies like a prisoner in a cell of bone, as if eaten by a forgotten giant. Now, there are other giants that roam the skies. Mechanical giants built by men who steal and pillage. These monsters breathe fire and unleash warriors from their bellies to kidnap children.

That is why you must use your mind. To out think. To outsmart. To survive.

There are always terrible things larger than you lurking in the darkness. Be prepared, my child. The dust blows strong.

Now, go to sleep.

 

As recorded by Edgar Lusse

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