“. . . Heh . . . Heh . . . Heh . . .” the Titan panted. “I am . . . so close . . . heh . . . heh . . .”

With little care she dropped the blade she’d been holding and reclined on her extravagant bed. Annallya had spent most of the entire morning in her room, reviewing every sword and combat form she’d been taught. Analyzing them and trying her best to adapt them into a style for comfortable for her to wield. To say that it was frustrating would be to say that water is slightly moist. It was enraging is what it was. The sword all Titan soldiers use, a short bladed gladius designed to be held in one hand, was made specifically to swing and chop. But the style was too rigid for her tastes, something important was missing from it. She just could not figure out what that might be, and she had been trying for hours since she’d woken up.

“It is typical of me,” she groaned aloud. “The only day in weeks where I have had no training or studying to fret over, and I still find a way to work myself to death.”

From where she lay on her bed, Annallya turned her head to the right to get a look at her writing desk. The brass cage where Andrill, for she insisted on calling him by his birth name, lived rested on it with the door open. Andrill himself had taken the opportunity to stretch his legs a bit and stroll across the expanse of her desk. She wasn’t worried about him running away, for the desk was too high with little to no features that would be useful for climbing down. It felt odd, at times, to think of how she kept this living, thinking creature locked up in a cage. Then again, she had to remember that, without her protection, Andrill would surely die trying to survive out in the city unprotected. It would be even worse if he somehow made it back to the forest. He said nothing in response to her outburst, as usual. Despite the short moment they had shared when she’d first shrunken down weeks ago, Andrill had only occasionally spoken to her, and for short intervals at a time. It was only natural, she supposed. True progress took time and patients, traits Annallya was running out of when it came to swordplay.

Against every instinct that berated her to remain on the bed, Annallya rose to her feet and picked her sword up once more. Shifting into her fighters stance, she squared off against an imaginary foe. At first she tried to go through her forms as she was always taught, with one hand wielding the sword, and an imaginary shield strapped to the other arm. One step at a time, she rehearsed what she’d always practiced: swing, chop, block, stab. As Annallya continued however, her shield hand would unconsciously grab the hilt of the sword, completely throwing off her sense of coordination. When she attempted another swing, the sword actually slid from her grasp and tumbled end over end, and topple a candle stand.

“To the flames with this!” she swore in a rage. “Everytime!”

It was unbearable to be so close to figuring something out, only for it to literally slip from your fingers. Annallya had been pouring everything into this in the hopes that it would relax her temper. Or at least tire her out enough that she couldn’t feel angry. As evidenced by her outburst, it was far from successful. Annallya had to spend a few seconds stifling her anger before going over and retrieving her weapon.

“This is fruitless.” she muttered to herself as she began picking up candles. “Fighting in this manner, fighting in general, makes no sense! If mother would only allow me to take up a craft or a trade, something time consuming and productive, perhaps then I may actually find a little peace. What in embers-”

“It’s never going to work.” Andrill softly interjected.

Annallya stiffened and slowly turned her gaze back to her desk. Andrill sat with his back against a book and a leg hanging off of the edge of the desk. It was the first time he’d spoken to her all day.

She put on a tired smile for the little human. “Clearly it is not. However I cannot fathom why.”

“Because you’re trying to blend together two different fighting styles that don’t easily compliment each other.” he answered.

Annallya’s eyes suddenly widened in shock. Not only was that the single longest sentence he had ever spoken, but it was uncommonly . . . insightful. For a human to have spoken like that was unheard of.

“E-excuse me?” she asked once she had gotten over her surprise. “What are you referring to?”

Andrill looked away with a grimace, as if he wished that he could take back what he had said. “Never mind it. I apologize for speaking out of turn mistress.”

“No no no no no, you did nothing wrong,” she quickly assured him. Annallya walked over towards the desk in quick, light steps. Kneeling down before the desk, she gently placed both of her hands on the smooth wooden surface, not too close to where Andrill sat. She continued in a soft voice. “Please, continue with what you were saying. And for the last time my name is Annallya, not mistress. You will address me as all of my friends do.”

Andrill gazed quizzically at the red-haired giantess, smiling next to him. He considered her for an anxious period of time, enough to make Annallya feel nervous being in front of him. Perhaps she’d scared him again into silence.

“I’ve seen the way you practice forms,” he said at last. “The way you Titans fight is based on strength and brutality. That’s why it only takes one hand to use your sword. But the way you’re trying to fight, with both hands, is completely different.”

Annallya almost held her breath as she listened intently to his words. The way he spoke was quite interesting. It was very . . . she did  not want to say uneducated, clearly he knew how to get his message across. Straightforward was a more fitting term. He wasted little time on proper sentence structure and spoke right to the point. He even found a way to combine specific words together to make his speech more efficient. Fascinating, these little people and their ways. Every day brought new truths to light. And his analysis of Titan fighting methods. How had he so quickly deduced them?

Andrill continued. “What you’re trying to do with your other hand is a different style of fighting altogether. More advanced if you ask me. Anyone can swing a sword in one hand and try and chop your head off. But with two hands you’re more controlled, more focused, and more dangerous.”

Annallya raised a questioning eyebrow. “Is that so? Then explain why I do not feel very focused or dangerous at the moment.”

Andrill paused. He didn’t exactly smile, as Annallya had hoped he would. She’d never seen him smile before. However, something in his face seemed to soften up by the tiniest of margins. “Because your sword isn’t designed for that kind of fighting. The blade’s short and the grip’s only made to fit in one hand. If you want to use your other hand then you need a longer sword and grip.”

Without much thought to the action, Annallya banged her fist against the table, no more than a few feet from her little pet. “As I suspected!” she exclaimed. “I knew that it must have something to do with the weapon, and not my skill with it!”

Despite the shock that came with her fist hitting the ground he sat on, Andrill remained where he was. Though Annallya saw the trepidus look he cast at her hand, and the way he tensely braced himself against the spine of the book. It was the look of a trapped animal that dared not make any sudden movement, for fear of being seen. Remorse flooded into her in an instant, coloring her pale face red. Idiot girl! she mentally screamed to herself. Finally, you are having a conversation with a man, and you go and frighten him half to death. And while he is assisting you with your training no less! Fool!

“I am truly sorry,” she meekly spoke. “I had not meant to intimidate you. Please, accept my humble apologies . . . as well as my debt for your help.”

Once more silence ruled over the room. It’s uncomfortable weight threatened to crush Annallya where she knelt. It was the weight of having done something wrong, having almost hurt someone. More than that, having almost killed someone. Annallya vividly recalled what it had been like to make herself small and stand before Andrill. Ordinarily, when a Titan makes herself small, there is no fear of what she is doing, for she can make herself big again at any moment. There is never a need to fear anyone while you are the size of a human for they cannot stop you from growing back. Inside of that cage, however, she’d made the silent promise to be small around a wild animal, and not grow again while inside of that cage. She had almost failed in that but her will held none the less. And it was almost too much, to stand there in the power of a human and not be sure if he wished harm upon you or not. That had only been for mere minutes. Andrill lived like that every day. Anything she did around him, no matter how gentle, would be looked upon with a measure of skepticism and caution, and she accepted that. To almost hurt him, however, was something she did not want to consider at all.

“You need a new sword,” he at last told her.

Annallya lifted her eyes from their cast down position, to stare at Andrill. As before he was still sitting with his back to the book. Despite the tremor he had just experienced, none of the shock he must have felt was visible on his face. He sat poised on the desk as if he were beneath a shady tree.

“Andrill I-” she began.

He interrupted again. “If you want to be able to fight with both hands, you’ll need a new sword. A different kind.”

Annallya nodded, not quite understanding why he chose to let what had just happen pass, but she was grateful for it. “Yes I agree with your assessment. However, I know not of where to find a weapon of such unique make. The smiths of Thylara are only versed in making swords the way that they always have.”

“Then find wood.” Andrill suggested.

“Wood?” she asked. “You would have me enter into battle with a sword of wood?”

“Wood to make a practice sword.” Andrill clarified. “Cut wood into lathes, strap them together, and wrap a little cloth around it. A practice sword, and you can make it any length.”

In an instant Annallya’s face lit up like a fireworks display. Why had an idea such as this not cross her mind before? It was so simple! “Andrill that is brilliant! I cannot thank you enou-” she paused for a moment. “Andrill . . . answer me true. How is it that you are so knowledgeable in this when your kind does not even know what a sword is?”

Andrill’s eyes bore directly into her own as he faced her with a smile devoid of any actual humor. “You really don’t know us, do you?”

With an almost lazy grace, the diminutive human stood to his feet and began to make his way across the landscape of the desk. “A man taught me,” he stated, never once looking at his giant companion, as he made his way towards his cage.

“A . . . a man?” Annallya asked in open skepticism.

“A good man.” he replied. Without another word to her, Andrill reclined on his miniature bed and closed his eyes to rest. Annallya took a moment to gaze curiously at her pet. Clearly he must be joking with her. Men did not understand swordplay, they didn’t even have the intelligence to create weapons. How then were they to understand the intricacies of sword fighting, and warfare? The idea was preposterous. And yet, Andrill had completely dumbfounded her in his knowledge of the art. He understood perfectly the problem facing her, and had developed a solution that had escaped Annallya’s own attention. The idea sounded impossible when played back in her head, but it had happened before her very eyes.

Annallya shook her head to clear it of such thoughts. If allowed to continue to follow such absurd notions, she would be kneeling there for days. So she rose quietly, tied on her sandals, slipped on her belt knife, and proceeded through and out of the palace. It was barely past midday and Thylara was at it’s busiest. Women and girls of all types swarmed in every directions like fish in a giant pond. Wood clopped against the stone streets as carts roamed about. The carts were hitched to great beasts called mammoths, the only animals known that were bigger than Titans in mass. The creatures themselves look like a cross between an ox and a lion. The body of the beast was unmistakably ox-like, and thick with muscle, along with the two great horns atop its head. However, unlike an ox, mammoths have pawed feet instead of hooves, and shaggier hair. While standing on all fours the mammoth came to chest level of the average Titan, and were much longer in body length. Despite their large and frightening appearance, mammoths were a languid and docile species, pulling carts and carrying passengers without much care or complaint. On both sides of the street were shops full of women selling their wares to passersby. Bakers, jewelers, sandal makers, florists, food vendors, tailors, potters, butchers and weavers of all types competing for the attention of the masses. Annallya knew many of them, it was normally her responsibility to shop for food, along with any other errands that her mother found no time for. Today, though, her mind was set on a path. Stopping by at a local tailor shop, Annallya was able to purchase both string and rope for herself. Unfortunately at the carpenters shop, the wooden lathes were too expensive for her to buy as well.

With her purse dangerously light, she was faced with no other option than to resort to her back up plan. Weaving through the thicket of customers as quickly and nimbly as she could, Annallya made her way to the gates of the city. Despite the feuds that spring up and die down within weeks, Titan cities receive regular travellers from neighboring or far off cities. As such the gates remain open throughout the day, only shutting at night. The gates themselves were mostly wood and stood over 20ft high in Titan scale. All along the perimeter of the city ran a wall 30ft in scale, made to protect its people from whatever rival city that decided to attack. Watchtowers were stationed periodically along the expanse of the stone wall. Guards in battle gear stood by and watched the trickle of guests enter into the city. Annallya gave them a nod and a smile as she walked outside of the city, but spoke not a word to anyone. They would call her mad had they known what she was about to do. The road from the gates ran off into the western horizon for as far as the eye could see. Hills were scattered about the landscape in odd and random intervals. There was not a tree in sight, there never were. The only trees that were Titan scale grew to the north of Thylara. Here at the southern gate of the city, the land was grassy and bare.

Annallya stepped from the wide dirt path that took on from Thylara to any of the other Titan cities, and onto the grassy plains of the landscape. Few ever wander such ways for everyone knows that there is nothing to be found in this direction. Nothing except the tiny woods that humans roamed about. Even then, those woods were vast, albeit tiny, and humans could only be found unfathomably deep within the veritable ocean of miniscule trees. Still, Annallya was reluctant, afraid even, to put herself so close to habitat that might bring her close to a wild and untamed human. The only reason she was even going to this forest for wood was because the great Titan groves to the north were more than half a day’s walk from the city. Whereas the walk to the human’s forest took her less than twenty minutes, plenty of time for Annallya to muster her courage when it finally came into sight. At full height Annallya stood 100ft tall compared to a human, a little taller than the average Titan even. The trees before her reached just below her waist. It was quite a different sight, however, when she shrunk herself down. From Annallya’s perspective, the trees themselves seemed to be growing above her, dominating and intimidating her just by being there. Every branch looked down on her from above. It made Annallya feel small in a way she had never before experienced.

Steadying her rising heartbeat, Annallya set to work picking out branches from the trees. She used the knife at her belt to cut down a particularly thick branch that had been hanging lower to the ground. After cleaning it of excess wood and twigs, she held it in her hands as she would a sword. The length was considerably longer compared to her Titan made gladius. She took a few practice swings, holding it in both hands as she had tried hundreds of times before. It felt . . . comfortable. Much better than the one handed gladius she’d always used. Unfortunately the weight was quite light, meaning she would need more branches. It wasn’t easy to find, for she had to look for the branches that were particularly straight. For almost an hour Annallya walked up and down the tree line, growing and shrinking to reach different branches. Never once did she set foot past the outermost trees at the very edge of the forest. One never knew what could be lurking within, even at the very edge of the woods. Finally, after much trial and error, Annallya came away with ten sturdy, straight branches. Perfect for the construction of a practice sword.

Annallya gathered her bundle of materials and turned to head back home, when an itch crept up her spine and stopped between her shoulder blades. She threw an uncertain glance behind over her shoulder at the trees. Nothing stirred, not a leaf on the breeze, and not a living creature to be seen. She knew what could be hiding in that mess of foliage and darkness, she knew that she should be growing to full height and running as far away as she could. And yet she could not block out the noise that was not there, the silent call of the forest. The allure of the dangerous and the unknown. It spoke to Annallya in a way that could not be described in a library’s worth of books. As slowly and cautiously as if she were being watched, Annallya layed her bundle of materials on the ground. Then, grasping her belt knife in a white knuckle grip, she took her first trepidous step into the forest of humans.

********************************************************************************************************

For the first time in what felt like days, the small party had come across a path in the woods. This would greatly ease their travelling, especially since they had no horses to spare for the journey. For almost a week they had been wandering these woods, their paths of choice chosen through guessing and faith, for their map had been lost to the river days ago. They would  probably have already reached their destination if they still had that map. Jull lifted a scuffed hand to his weathered face and peered at the sun, barely breaking through the treetops. Judging by the sun’s path, they must still be heading west, which was the direction they needed to be going in. But there was no way to tell how far off from their mark they really were. They could have passed within a mile of where they were headed and not have known. With a sigh of concern, he rubbed his hand through the sparse hair that remained on his head. It came back slick with sweat, they had been walking a long time. He wiped his hand on a shirt that had long since stopped being clean. His trousers were in no better condition, caked with dust and mud. None of that mattered, though. So long as his boots remained in good condition, he could still walk. His face was unwashed, his legs burned, his back ached, but burning embers he could still walk.

Looking back, Jull took note of the condition of his two travelling companions, they didn’t look any better than he. Tana, his only daughter, was caked in as much dirt as he was. A pity he idly thought, at sixteen winters of age, she was quite a beautiful girl. Not someone who should be forced to walk for days on end with dirt all over her face. Her green tunic-like top was worn from many nights of being slept in, and her pants were little better. She carried a bow in hand, with a quiver bristling with arrows at her hip. Jull had taught her how to use that bow himself. He didn’t carry one, trusting her younger eyes to use it better. He made due with the walking stick in his left hand. Trailing behind Tana was Jorna, a boy barely nine winters old. The boy wasn’t Jull’s, he was actually his brother’s son. Jull was tasked with looking after him as he travelled to lands safer from Titans. He was a good kid, and made good use of the sling in his hand for hunting rabbits and squirrel. Between him and Tana, the three had eaten well over the past couple of days. Right now Jorna was looking at him with those brown eyes that seemed to see more than most grown men.

“Uncle Jull?” he asked.

“What is it boy?” Jull grunted.

“We’re lost.” There was no hint of a question in that statement, only fact. “I know that you feel like you need to keep me happy by pretending we’re not, but I know we are. You can tell me, I can take it.”

Despite everything, Jull managed a genuine smile at the boys cleverness. He traded an amused look with Tana, who shrugged. He was too smart for his own good. “We’re not lost, Jorna. I know where we need to be going. I just haven’t found it yet.”

“What’s this village even called, da?” Tana asked.

“It’s not just a village, Tana, it’s a haven.” he declared for them both. “A village buried so deep in the woods, no Titan has ever found it before. The people live completely free from fear of those monsters taking them away.” Jull’s face took on a faraway look, as if he were seeing it in front of him now. “Sol-har. Where we’ll finally be safe.”

“If we ever find it,” Tana muttered scornfully.

“We will!” he insisted. “We wi-” Jull stopped short as he heard the sound of a leaves being disturbed on the forest floor, the sound of footsteps. He and Tana both turned towards the noise, Tana with an arrow notched in her bow.

“Wait,” he whispered. “That didn’t sound like an animal. Might be people.” He continued in a louder voice. “It’s alright, we ain’t gonna hurt you. Come on out.”

From behind a rather thick tree trunk stepped a tall, slender woman. The leaves rustled and crunched under her sandaled feet. She wore an immaculate sleeveless top of white that connected to a skirt that ended just past her knees. A red corset-like belt was at her waist that held a sheathed knife. What was even stranger than her clothes was the fact that not a spec of dirt marred them. Even stranger than that, however, was the gem on her forehead, dangling from a silver chain wrapped around her head. It was the purest little saphire Jull had ever seen. Bluer than any drop or water, and shaped just the same. Jull squinted at her in the light. Suddenly his face turned bone white, as he gripped harder on the walking stick in his hand.

“Sun and stars,” he breathed. “It can’t be. Not here.”

In his shock Jull took an involuntary step backwards, and was about to scream for Tana and Jorna to run, when he saw that the woman had mirrored his movement and stepped back. It was merely a tiny step, but Jull had seen it. He thought he imagined it, but then he took a second look at her. The woman, the Titan’s face, was etched in shock and . . . and what looked like fear. With the adrenaline of fear coursing through his system, Jull felt as though he had ages to study her face. Yes there was no mistaking it. This Titan, for he recognized the clothes she wore as Titan made, was frightened by them. He couldn’t fathom why, how could one contemplate something as monstrous as a Titan being afraid of anything. But when he took another step back, the Titan again mirrored his motion, backing another step away.

“Look at the ground,” he whispered to his daughter and nephew. His throat felt as dry as the dust on his face. “Keep backing up slowly. No sudden movements.”

“Uncle?” Jorna asked in a whisper. “What’s going on? Who is she?”

“Just do as I say,” he answered, taking another step back.

The family continued to back away as slowly as they could, no one dared even sneeze as they moved. Finally, when the woman was out of sight, and only when she was out of sight, did they all break into a run. They flew along the dirt path as fast as their feet could carry them, leaving Annallya standing there in utter shock, and a single word on the tip of her soft tongue.

“Sol-har.”