The winter of the Battle for Monksville is not an easy one for either of the divided villages, but the giants manage to pull through. Not a single giant of either tribe sets foot on Monksville for the remainder of the season; following his legendary battle with The Beast, The Giant was brought to the Mining Village and Black Smith took him in with open arms and ready hands. The fishcatcher’s right hand was mangled beyond repair, truly ruined; when he woke up the next morning, the flesh had turned a disconcerting purple-green color and was throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Only one thing could be done: The Giant’s right hand was amputated at the wrist. Black Smith, a giant of metal and meddle alike, went straight to the mines and drew enough ore to make five augers, but that mold had long been broken and would not be filled again.
Black Smith is a brilliant inventor, among many other things, so he crafted The Giant a new hand, one composed of dark metal to be fastened to his stump of a wrist, a hand perfectly shaped to tightly grip the handle of a fishing rod, whether that rod be a mighty longpole or a simple jiggin’ rig; a hand perched on a swivel so it may easily be turned during use. When it was done, all the giants of the Mining Village paraded down to the Fishing Village and the tribes came together for a supreme celebration lit by a towering bonfire which lasted all night; never since the days of the village on the river have the giants felt such a sense of unity between the two tribes of Monksville, and in the back of The Giant’s mind, the hope for future unity burns on, hotter than the blaze of the bonfire.
This has been the twenty-second subchapter of the third chapter of the book 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~