A Tale of Giants
Sit and listen, small giants,
for the endtimes have found us,
and I’ve one final story to tell.
The Sixth Cycle
At last we have arrived – the sixth cycle since the filling of Monksville, the crescent moon valley crimped between a snowcapped mountain filled with precious metals and a curved arc of its kin. This cycle denotes the start of our main story, but not quite yet, small giants. For autumn to come, first must past summer, and before that the spring, and before that the winter must come and go, pulling its cloak of wind and ice along with it.
The winter provides a fruitless ice fishing season for The Giant, but he does not give up. The unfaltering famine grows worse with each passing day.
The spring provides a fruitless fishcatching season for The Giant, but he does not give up. The unrelenting famine continues into austerity.
The summer provides baked red skin which falls off in flakes along with a fruitless fishcatching season for The Giant, but he does not give up. The famine, while not yet dire, is nothing to sneeze at. The trees of The Sticks are bleached white by the great shine and the Wanaque’s waters south of the North Floodgate begin to seep into the parched Earth, the surface dropping ever closer to the bottom.
This tale began with the giants, and will surely end with them, too, but for now we shall leave them be. Much is yet to happen within the domain of the Mighty Mother Monksville, much to happen indeed; now you know how what is came to be. What comes next is what will be, and as for what that is, we shall have to wait and see.
This has been the thirteenth 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.
The Hillside Commons has a Facebook page. Here’s that.
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. From this day on, we move forever forward~