A Tale of Giants
Sit and listen, small giants,
for the endtimes have found us,
and I’ve one final story to tell.
The Fifth Cycle
The fifth cycle marked the bitter and untimely end of ice fishing on Monksville for all the giants… all but one; why waste time drowning bait in the cold when one could hunt and bring back a warm pelt along with a meal?
“Because something darker than a starless night has tainted these waters over which we are supposed to be stewards, and something must be done.”
In The Sticks, both vultures and gulls were beginning to die off from starvation. This prompted Monksville’s flocking Birds of Prey to scour the Wanaque River, much to the disdain of the red-tailed hawks whose flock was already losing plumage from the lack of available small game. Tensions only increased with each passing day. The lakebreathers kept to deep water as often as possible, though even this did not save them from The Beast’s evil hunger. The landwalkers, while mostly unaffected by the vile aquatic creature as they consume whatever the land provides them, did have suspicions that something was off down in the depths of Monksville, but what could be done?
“Well, what can be done, my fellow tribesfolk?”
“Nothing,” said most giants.
“Something,” returned The Giant, and though he had sworn to never fishcatch again, though he was unsure of exactly what he could do to alleviate the scourge which had taken his lake, he was unwaveringly certain of one thing: it would be done either on the ice or in a boat, and it would be done by him and him alone.
This has been the twelfth subchapter of the first chapter of The Monksville Chronicles. Here is everything you need to know about it:
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
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If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. From this day on, we move forever forward~