Large embers smoldered in a tin that once held cat food. The fire was unnecessary for warmth, as they were well insulated by the giants’ house, but fire was a tradition. Something inside these little bodies told them it as appropriate to tell tales around a fire, around the warm light that represented their unquenchable light as well as the spark of imagination.

A lean, young man said, “Is that all, Chocan?”

“That’s all I care to share, Seijec. I’ve told you the best of it, as far as you need to know.” Chocan’s stony gaze picked out each of the elders in their circle. There was, of course, more to it than he’d said.

A girl piped up. “Was she very beautiful, Chocan?”

He smiled. “Ellacena, she was as beautiful as the sunrise, as warm and promising as the fiery light that chases the darkness away.”

The little girl ooh’ed in delight. “Am I that beautiful, Chocan?”

The elders laughed. “You’re as the flowers, little girl,” he said. “If you eat all your vegetables and get enough sleep, I’m sure someday you’ll be as beautiful as the sunrise.”

“But the ogre,” said a little boy. “How did you survive him?”

The warrior’s face went blank. “I believed in myself, Lialus. I had faith in my training. I had the support of my ancestors, greater warriors than you could ever imagine. How could I fail?”

Lialus’ eyes were dazzled with imagination as he stared into the embers.

“I think there’s something you’re keeping from us,” said a teenager. He hung back from the tribal circle, but now stepped into the light, across the embers from the warrior. “You’re not telling us the whole story.”

“I’m not telling you the whole story, Ronus.” Chocan nodded. “How about you have a good sleep, and then you can tell me what I’ve left out, you who knows all.”

Ronus scowled and started to reply, when his mother, Yndri, stood up. “That’s enough for now, children,” she announced firmly. “Up now, wash your faces, scrub your teeth in salt, and then straight to bed!” Ronus protested, then withered under Yndri’s glare. Reluctantly, all the smallest members of these tiny people picked themselves up and filed out of the area.

The elders only watched the embers pop and waver. Chocan heard the children slipping into the soft mounds of moss. After several minutes, when their breathing grew heavy, then the elders lifted their heads to him.

“How bad was it?” asked Oakala, the Stream-Mother.

Chocan slowly shook his head and his shoulders slumped. “It was a nightmare, at its worst. I never imagined such things were possible.”

“Was it as bad as Haban’s journey?” asked Cudil, the Story-Keeper.

The warrior took a deep breath and stared into the ember. “It was worse than Haban’s journey. It was much worse than Phoquo’s journey—he seems to have gotten away with something.” All the elders nodded: Phoquo’s victory was swift and uneventful, and that itself was an interesting story. “Nothing, of course, could be as bad as Joce’s fall.”

Everyone hung their heads for a minute. “Blessed Joce,” they murmured after the silence.

“Is there anything else you would like to share with us?” prodded Greatmother Uatae. Her wizened frame leaned on the Mint Toothpick of Authority, clutched in one knobby fist, and her deep and probing eyes spoke of wisdom and forgiveness. They were a source of comfort to all warriors, returning from the giants’ domain.

Chocan blew air from his nostrils. “There is so much to say,” he ventured, “but I haven’t the words. Those giants… I don’t know whether we are the misfits on this earth, or they are. We live in harmony with the ground, the plants and animals, but they are irresistible oppressors of all they survey. They are indomitable over nature.” He rubbed his face. “But the things they do… the things they think up to do to each other…” He shuddered.

“But the beauteous one, your Goddess of Love,” said Greatmother Uatae. “You may not return to her. You are done with this and are needed elsewhere.”

Chocan rose from the pebble upon which he sat, and he knelt before the Greatmother. Taking her hand in his, he gulped hard and braced himself to stare up into those powerful eyes of hers.

“Nothing can keep me away from her,” he said slowly. “Not you, not the tribe, and not that grotesque ogre to whom she is bonded.” The elders began to protest, but Chocan only stood and raised his palms. He silenced them and, saying nothing more himself, he walked away from the fire and prepared for bed.

Yndri looked sadly at Oakala, and Oakala looked mournfully at Greatmother Uatae. She returned their gazes, opened her mouth, shut it and sighed heavily.

“The Goddess of Love has claimed another Joce,” uttered Cudil, the Story-Keeper.

The elders stared into the embers until they all went dark.