It smelled. But like what? Matt didn't know. He groaned. What happened? What a nightmare.
Okay, let's start with moving.
He moved his arms, so they were ok. Next was his left leg yup, that checked out too. Next his right leg right leg right leg, where are you right leg?
Matt cursed the Gods.
This can't be happening.
Against all natural instinct he had to just lay there and die, he slowly opened his eyes, in what felt like the toughest motion he had ever had to make. Brown was what he saw. Just brown. He positioned his arms to piston himself up, like a push up, and leveled his head with the ground. He didn't see much, just a large fire in the distance. The room was almost like a strobe light, until he realized that trees were all around him wait, not trees. Wooden bars. The strength in his arms gave, and he fell with a splat onto his face.
He was in a birdcage.
Was this what it amounted to? Years of contracted killing of giants and beasts of all kinds . To end up in a cage, helpless with a broken leg? Wonderful. How cruel the Gods could be. To a woman no less! The fact that she was thirty times his height didn't dilute the pain. Shame!
Matt was about to bite his own tongue when he heard a soft humming. He looked up, and saw the giantess walk into the room. She had something in her hand, something that wriggled. She walked over to the fire that Matt had seen when he first woke up, and he realized it was a stove: a giant, mud-built stove. Maybe giants weren't such mindless brutes after all
Yeah, right.
How sophisticated were they when they ate his village? Crushed his family? Took the village girls to their caves and did Gods know what to them? Truth was, they were killers; it didn't matter if one was lucky enough to figure out how to cook Ilicans more effectively. They would die just the same.
As if right on cue, the red-headed giantess pulled a knife from the countertop and a squeal was heard when the knife came back down.
Not human then what?
Again, on cue, a wyvern head was discarded to the ground. Its tongue poked out in protest. Wyvern stew, he guessed.
He tried to get up. Once more, he pistoned his arms, and pushed the rest of him up with his left leg, trying not to move his right. Ever so lightly, he began to shift his weight to his right leg. But at first pressure, an unholy pang shot up it and he fell over with a thud and (tried as he might to muffle it) a 'Gah!'
The giantess looked over. She smiled in delight.
"You're awake! Great. Didn't think you'd make it there for a second, little one."
She sauntered over, her footsteps shaking the cage slightly. In height, it stood about to her stomach, so she had to lean over a bit. Her enormous face filled Matt's vision.
"I'm so glad you're awake! You slept for days. You lost lots of blood. You Ilicans have no blood volume, you know that? Jeez, poke a hole in you and you bleed out in five minutes!"
She laughed, and Matt had to cover his ears, and she saw this.
"Oops! Sorry," she said overly quiet. "I keep forgetting that my voice is like thunder to you."
She stood there for a moment, like she was thinking. Matthew finally got a long look on the face of this monster:
Her face was nice, for a monster. Somewhat thin face, short nose with a tip that descended her nostrils, and green eyes that were the size of two of Matt's heads. When she smiled, a perfectly aligned, white set of teeth were borne. Her cheeks folded, and curved lines appeared on either side of her mouth, like a set of lips inside a set of parenthesis. Her lips were full, supple looking, and pink. They were well, Matt thought they looked nice. A part of his heart (and another part) throbbed for them.
Nonsense! Not for a monster, a beast!
He returned to his killer's eyes. He scowled like wolf. Completely emotionless.
She noticed.
"What's wrong, little'un? You okay?"
She moved her head in closer for a look. Matt shuffled back.
"Stay away! I dont need your help." He scowled.
She seemed to ponder this, then laughed.
"Come on, really. I'm not like that "
Her hand began towards the cage, and Matt stood up, fighting the pain.
"I said stay away! I'm not going to be your prisoner. Just release me or kill me already."
He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth. He was never more scared in his life. The giantess sighed.
"Gods, you're all the same."
The smile left her face, and something like disappointment took its place. She got up, and looked down with her hands on her hips.
"Has it ever occurred in your feeble mind that some of us are actually not killers?"
Matt laughed.
"Please. If there was any kind bone in any giant's body, I wouldn't be paid gold to kill them, would I?" He smirked/scowled.
She rolled her eyes, turned her back and walked back to the stove. She waved a hand in the air and sighed once again. She'd give up, for the moment. Matthew wondered what the hitch was. Maybe she'd crush him in his sleep. If I even sleep. Or maybe he was a side dish for that stew. Either way, this was probably the end.
He sat down; nothing to do now but wait. If something did happen, he'd want all his strength for when it came. He had to sleep. He backed up to the side of the cage and drooped his head down. His last thought before reaching into the confines of sleep (and soon enough, he'd be entering the domain of Sleep's sister, Death) was
That soup smells nice.
Matthew awoke with a start: the cage was moving, rumbling. It took only a second to get his bearings, and a conclusion followed not a second after: She was going to kill him.
He opened his eyes to a swinging world, back and forth. Behind, he was a wall of cloth. She was carrying him. He started to feel something in his stomach
Matt had always liked sailing on ships, but his stomach preferred not to agree with him. Every time he traveled by merchant vessel, he could always be seen at the side, head below his arms.
The giantess set the cage on the table, and went off to the stove. In the cabinet, she fetched crude versions of a bowl, a plate, and a spoon. She came back, set them on the table, and went off into another room.
This is it. Matt thought.
This is where I meet my fate at the dinner table of a really tall girl...
But he couldn't give up hope. Not yet, he wouldn't die without at least trying to escape.
She had to release him for a short time, right? Between the cage and her mouth, there must be time to make a break for it. Matthew thought about it Yes it could work. Unlikely, but somehow feasible. It would hurt like hell to run with a broken leg, but he endured worse. He once fought for three days with an arrow head stuck in his back.
The giantess returned, and she was carrying a pitcher with what could only be assumed was mead and a small box.
Carving kit, probably.
She set them down, and began to unlock the cage's top. This was it. A huge, slender hand descended upon him, and nothing. The hand set beside Matthew, palm up, like a platform. Matt's mouth opened slightly.
A moment passed.
"Well?" Her feminine voice boomed. "Arent you going to climb on? Again, I'm not going to hurt you unless you want me to." She smiled.
Matt looked up at her. Reluctantly, he stepped onto the enormous hand. Gently, it rose, until it was out of the cage. Then, the descent was a bit quicker, until she brought him next to the box. Slowly, she turned her hand over and Matt slide down onto his bum.
She smiled again.
"Not too hard, I suppose? See? You CAN trust me. Besides you humans taste terrible er, so I hear."
She turned her attention to the small box, and then Matt knew it was time: He made a break for the edge of the table. With all his might, he jumped up, and began to curl himself up into a ball, so he would roll on the ground. It was a steep fall, but just maybe he wou-
A hand caught him. He was lifted up very quickly that his stomach jerked, and the hand closed tightly around him. She brought him up to her face.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
She huffed. Matt was reminded of the women back home.
"What's your problem? Do you have a death wish or something? What in the name of the Gods possessed you to do that?!"
She set him on the table, slightly harder this time. She folded her arms and gazed at him, demanding an answer.
Matthew stood up, brushed the dust off, hands on his hips and said,
"Death is better company than a monster, monster."
She made a face, something between disgust and surprise.
"Oh, come OFF of it! Gods, you actually believe that load of fodder that they shovel into you head about giants, dont you? That were 'such killers and that the Gods need us dead,' right?" She flailed her arms in the air, emphasis of the quotation. "Gods "
She got up from her chair, shuffled her feet a bit, folded her arms, and then looked back down at him.
"Gods, I show you hospitality in my own home, and you throw it in my face just because I'm different than you Why are you Ilicans such masochistic pigs?! Are ALL of you like this, or do I just get the special treatment? My Gods "
Matt was tired. So the next sentence didnt have as much ferocity, but he still needed to establish who was boss.
"Listen, giant, I dont need your hospitality, witchcraft or your other-"
Two giant hands slammed on the table, knocking him down. He looked up and saw a enormous face not two feet away from his own. Hot yet sweet breath filled his nostrils.
"My name is NOT 'Giant,' 'Beast,' or 'Monster,' you tiny bug of a twit!! It's AMELIA! GOT IT?! AMELIA!!"
She bared her white teeth. She was breathing heavily now; her red hair was in disarray and some came down past her face. Matthew could have grabbed on and climbed up, had he not been on the ground. Tears started to fill her eyes. The scowl turned into disappointment, and then into sadness. She slumped back into her chair, and put her eyes in her hands. Then she did something that Matthew never expected from anyone her size: She began to sob.
Matthew usually never had pity for anyone, especially giants. He had ended many of their males with a terror in their eyes that no one should ever have to see. Up until now, Matt had always assumed it was well, the pain of defeat. But this time, it was different.
His heart ached. First he thought it was fatigue, but no, it was an honest-to-gods feeling, to which he knew was true: He felt sorry for his actions he had made against this giant girl. He made her cry a giant, cry! He never thought he'd see it.
He did something he never should have done, but it seemed right in his heart.
"Gi Amelia I I'm sorry."
She looked up. Her face was red like her hair and her eyes were water logged.
"Wuh-what?" She stammered.
Matthew shifted. It was harder saying it the second time. A bit louder,
"I I'm sorry, Ms. Amelia."
They both sat there, looking at each other's eyes for a moment.