Four. That’s how many Ro had managed to tally before the world around her trembled. Four strides of her steed for every quaking step of the giant. It stood out like a sore thumb, towering above the scarcely forested plains. The slow-witted goliath was unaware of the twenty riders gaining on it, eyes and weapon points trained on its back. Each had counted the paces, and come to their own conclusions - the giant wasn’t fast, nor was it too big, at least by man-eating behemoth standards. Despite the favourable odds, it was still unlikely that the group will return to camp as a whole. Death for the riders wasn’t an if, it was a when. And Gods be damned if Ro didn’t put up a fight against the tides of time.
The man-eater turned its head. Not for the thunder of the riders’ approach, but for the primal banshee scream that erupted from their throats - equal parts dizzying and frightening. Ro felt heat rush to her head as she joined in on the death-cry.
Three. The number of dumbfounded blinks the giant had to force through before it realized it was being surrounded. In the time that it took for the collosal to begin swinging its tree-made club, three circles had already formed around it, alternating in direction. The riders and their horses expertly avoided each swat, knowing that the first hit may also be their last. For them, striking true was much easier, mainly due to the sheer size of their target. Javelins came hurling, ropes tied to their ends. Most hit, though those that failed to find their marks were soon replaced with arrows. Pecking away at the giant’s face, they dealt no true damage and served only as a distraction.
The ropes twirled and tightened around the man-eater with each full rotation. Ro’s arms burned from the strain of the task. The giant struggled and convulsed, only tangling itself further, though each pull on the rope nearly sent the light-weighted rider flying off her steed. Lucky she’d invested in proper stirrups.
The colossal grew tired, though even a newfound strength would have done little to help it. Arms and legs completely tied, it could no longer move properly, and barely held any balance. All that was left was the curtsy and finis. The sight was unworthy of these gallant names - the giant bawled from the depths of its stomach and began to fall, ungracefully, like cattle struck by lightning. Ro knew to avoid the sides and ride straight away. She watched as the man-eater managed to plant its foot firmly one last time and shift the path of its fall completely. Right on top of a rider-gone-aside. The poor soul hadn't faced giants before. Ro hadn't even learnt her name.
Two. Two times the fallen rider attempted to speak through gargled blood and crushed lungs as her companions stayed true to their task and finished the giant off. They avoided the mouth and shoved javelins straight through its eyes, up until they could no longer feel the heartbeat on the soles of their boots. The lives of many for the dying words of one - a wager that the “Corsets” couldn’t afford.
One. “Just tonight” - spoke their leader once the sun had set and safe campgrounds were established. The new batch of riders needed to find respite - they weren't hardened, like Ro or the other veterans. Tonight the she-riders of Alfrodull will light funeral fires. They will grief, drink and love, as tonight is a certainty, and tomorrow is a terrifying promise.
