Wynston of the Ward leaned upon on his quarterstaff. He was locked in single combat with his most persistent foe—sleep. Wynston was bored. So very bored. Every few moments, he felt his eyelids drooping, his head beginning to nod. It was only a matter of time before his old enemy would get the best of him.
As shire-reeve of the town of Lesser Albion and the surrounding county of Lesser Albionshire, Wynston was charged with keeping the peace. However, Lesser Albion was a small village located in a remote corner of the kingdom. Very little ever happened there.
Wynston was suddenly snapped back to his senses by a powerful tremor. The ground shook so violently that it rattled the foundations of his guard tower. Was it an earthquake? A landslide? He adjusted his feathered cap, hurried down the tower stairs, and sped out the door. It was still dark, not yet dawn. Wynston rushed into the dim light and was greeted by an astonishing image. On the outskirts of the village was an enormous green beanstalk, stretching high into the air.
“Od’s blood,” Wynston muttered.
The reeve noticed a few early-rising villagers clustered together. All of them were staring into the sky, yet strangely they were facing away from the beanstalk. Wynston found this odd and turned to investigate.
As he did so, his jaw nearly hit the ground. It wasn’t before dawn at all. Something—or rather, someone—was blocking the sun.
Looming above the village was an unfathomably gigantic figure. Wynston’s gaze followed the impossible length of a pair of shapely feminine legs. They were as thick as castle turrets and twice as tall. Wynston craned his neck back and peered higher, spotting a brown leather loincloth. Extending past this garment on either side were round, womanly hips as wide as the roadway. Beyond this was a smooth, bare belly as vast as a cliff face. He tried to look higher, but his view was obscured by the swell of a gargantuan bosom overhead, bound tightly in leather wrappings. Its massive curves would surely dwarf the modest hills of Lesser Albionshire. The face of the colossus wasn’t visible from this angle but Wynston thought he could see wisps of brown hair flying in the morning breeze.
The legends were true. There were giants in the sky. And one was on his doorstep.
As the panicked villagers ran about like headless chickens, Wynston peered up at the towering being. He tried to guess just how big she was. She was taller than the mightiest trees of the border forest, taller than the king’s castle. She looked about the size of Old Cloudycrown, the only mountain in Lesser Albionshire. That would put her at, what? At least a hundred and—nay, two hundred and fifty feet tall?! How could anything that large even exist?
Wynston watched in morbid fascination as the titanic leg suddenly began to rise. The giant woman was on the move. She stepped casually over the town’s protective wall, crossing a barrier meant to repel invasion as easily as one might walk over a fallen branch.
With a resounding crash, her humongous foot touched down upon the village street—landing just short of where Wynston was standing. The ground trembled with this mighty impact, causing the reeve to stumble and fall. The size of that immense appendage caused him to gulp in terror. It was longer than a fishing barge. She was barefoot, a sight which only reinforced her staggering scale, for her littlest toe was nearly as large as Wynston’s entire body. The larger toes dwarfed him completely like massive boulders.
His gaze was so fixed upon that mammoth foot that he failed to notice a pair of huge eyes drifting his way. The giantess had spotted him.
“Oops!” a dulcet voice boomed in the sky. “I almost stepped on you, little fella! Sorry about that.”
Wynston’s ears perked up. The giant had spoken. She wasn’t simply a dumb brute. And she seemed apologetic even? Perhaps she could be reasoned with. Moments later, she stooped down. Wynston tried not to scream as her tremendous form loomed over him and a dark shadow eclipsed his world.
The petrified reeve felt the pads of two mighty fingers pinch his sides. His stomach lurched as she stood up straight, carrying him into the sky. The wind rushed in Wynston’s ears and his head swam. At last he was deposited on the soft plane of her outstretched palm. Blinking dumbly, he peered up at a strikingly beautiful face the size of a hill.
“Aren’t you just adorable?” she cooed at him. Wynston felt her thunderous voice reverberating in his chest.
“Excuse me, m-miss,” he stammered nervously. “My name is W-Wynston of the Ward, duly appointed reeve of this shire. Your presence is creating quite a stir and f-frightening the villagers. Might I ask your, er, intentions?”
“I am Blunderbora of the Cloudlands,” the giantess replied. “But everyone calls me Bora. You have naught to fear from me, little one. I mean no harm. I’m merely exploring your precious, tiny kingdom.”
“I see,” said Wynston, not at all sure if he believed this. “Well, do try and be cautious, madam.”
“Say, why don’t I find somewhere to sit down so we can get better acquainted?” the immeasurable woman asked.
“Sit down?” Wynston repeated. “I’m not so sure that’s—whoa!”
The reeve lost his balance and tumbled into her hand as the giantess began to move. Carefully, she made her way down the main thoroughfare of the village, her tremendous feet cracking the cobblestones with each step and leaving deep, trench-like footprints. The street was narrow and decidedly not built for her dimensions. As such, the giant woman was rather cramped between the rows of houses and shops. As she passed, her meaty calves scraped against the sides of the buildings, knocking loose bricks and woodwork.
Wynston peered over the edge of her hand with dread, watching the damage unfold. Several hundred feet below, he saw the dot-like forms of villagers fleeing before her booming footfalls. Every so often, one would stumble to the ground and Wynston’s heart caught in his throat. But to her credit, Bora was careful not to step on anyone, pausing in mid-stride as they scurried away.
At last, she arrived at the largest structure in the village—the town hall. This was one of the few buildings in Lesser Albion that stood more than one story high, incorporating the mayor’s lavish quarters on its upper floors. Without a second thought, Bora plopped her enormous, round backside onto the roof, taking a seat. Wynston could hear the building creak and groan under her weight.
The giantess was holding her hand level with her prodigious chest and the reeve couldn’t help but stare at those vast mounds of flesh and the intimidating chasm between them. Bora noticed his gaze and began to laugh, causing those magnificent hills to quiver.
“You can look but I wouldn’t get too close,” she giggled. “A little man like you could get lost in there.”
Wynston was contemplating that idea when the giantess suddenly bent forward to inspect something on the ground. Her hand dipped down and scooped an item from the road. As she sat back up, Wynston noticed a wooden wagon filled with apples gripped between her fingers. The farmer had thankfully long since fled. Bora licked her lips and brought the cart up to her mouth. She opened wide and tipped the wagon slightly, allowing the apples to tumble into her vast maw. The air was punctuated by loud crunching noises, followed by a mighty gulp. Wynston looked on in awe as Bora swallowed an orchard’s worth of apples in one go. She opened a leather pouch on her belt and deposited the empty cart within.
“Souvenir,” she explained.
Bora stooped down once again and collected a few more such souvenirs—a broken flagpole, a wheelbarrow, some farming tools, even a life-size bronze statue of the king. All went into the pouch. Wynston was about the admonish that these did not belong to her but thought better of it.
“Got anything to drink in this town? I’m parched,” the giantess said. Before Wynston could answer, she caught sight of the local pub. Still holding him in one hand, Bora slipped down from the rooftop, dropping to her knees with a crash. She placed her free hand on the ground and leaned down to inspect the tavern. She was disappointed to find that the front door was too small to admit her hand within. Instead, she crawled around to the side of the building and spotted the large wooden cellar doors.
“Aha!” she exclaimed. “Bet that’s where they keep the good stuff!”
The giantess pried open the doors carefully and stuck her arm inside until it vanished up to the elbow. Unable to see what she was doing, Bora felt around experimentally. She finally retracted her hand, grasping a fistful of wine barrels. Sitting up straight, she lifted her prize and popped the barrels into her mouth like a handful of grapes. She was about to chomp down on them when her eyes went wide with alarm.
“What’s wrong?” Wynston asked.
Bora brought the hand holding Wynston close to her vast, rosy lips. Wrinkled pink flesh filled his vision until she opened her enormous mouth. A wave of hot air assaulted him. The nervous reeve peered into those cavernous jaws, uncertain if this was to be his destination as well. Inside, he saw the wine barrels rolling about on the slick, pink carpet of her tongue. Mixed in among them however was a terrified bar-maid, her dress and hair slick with saliva. The poor girl must have been checking the inventory in the cellar.
“H-help me! Please!” the blonde woman implored, crawling across the slippery muscle towards daylight.
Gingerly, Bora reached into her mouth with two fingers and retrieved the young lady. She set her gently in her hand beside Wynston. The moistened maiden clung to him fearfully.
“Is, uh, anyone else in there?” the giantess slurred through her mouthful. She opened wide once again, her jaws stretching to a length greater than Wynston’s height. Ignoring his fear, the reeve peered inside and saw only the wooden barrels.
“All clear,” he called.
At once, the immense mouth slammed shut. Bora began to chew up the barrels with a horrible, rending, crunching sound. She gave an appreciative moan as their sweet juices were released. The bar-maid buried her face in Wynston’s shoulder, sobbing. After a moment, there was another audible gulp as the giantess swallowed the wine.
Bora looked down remorsefully at the shivering woman in her hand. “Perhaps it would be best if I depart now,” the giant said. “Before I accidentally hurt someone.”
Lowering her hand, she allowed the frightened girl to disembark and flee from the scene. Wynston was about to do the same when she pinched the back of his shirt with her fingers. The giantess lifted him up to dangle before her face.
“You know,” she said coyly, “souvenirs are nice. But the only way anyone will believe I’ve been to the land of the little people is if I bring back…a little person. What say you, Wynston of the Ward? Fancy a vacation to the clouds? I promise to bring you home again in one piece.”
Wynston stared into the twin pools of her beautiful blue eyes. She bit her gigantic lip cutely with a pleading expression.
“That…that could be nice,” the reeve admitted.
“Yay!” Bora cried out. “Oh, darn. My pouch is full. Wherever shall I put you?”
With a mischievous wink, the giantess dangled Wynston above her colossal chest. She released her grip and allowed him to tumble into the deep crevasse of her cleavage. Wynston slipped into this chasm and vanished from sight.
“Enjoy the ride, little man,” Bora said, patting her bosom. She turned back towards the beanstalk.