#hparc

“I’ll keep Mouse and Oxbow from houndin’ ya too bad,” Beech says, his hand waiting on the doorknob. “I doubt they’ll let you get past em’ without sayin’ hello, but I’ll make sure ya have time to get settled before they play twenty-questions.”

“Thank you,” you mutter, unable to return Beech’s sad smile. He opens the door, his broad back interrupting your view of metal walls and white floor for a moment before you both step inside. The room feels smaller around you than it seemed from the outside, not unpleasantly so. The domed ceiling and the low orange lights are almost comfortable, aided by the half-circle couch and plush armchairs in the center of the room that have been arranged into a ring. Your wide eyes trace the fine pieces of furniture- perhaps the finest you’ve ever seen, before they drift to the wall-length shelves stocked with thick, colorful spines of expensive-looking books. Your eyes rove over the spaces without books, filled instead with seemingly anything; little figurines crafted from wire and clay, dusty glass bottles with flowers sprouting from the necks, long hanging vines, somehow flourishing and green without sunlight. Your investigation of your surroundings is cut short when a bundle of thick fabric wraps around your head, blacking out your vision. You throw your arms up, yelping and flailing to free yourself from the cloth blinding you. 

“Mouse, be nice.” Beech grumbles before you can work yourself into panic. You yank the fabric from your face, recognize your coat, and tie the sleeves around your waist with shaky hands. Mouse shrugs with a sly smile, unperturbed by your frown, and holds your boots out to you, dangling by the laces from his fingers. 

“Thanks for getting my things,” you say hesitantly, taking the boots and letting them swing from your own hand. “And for earlier. In the tree.” 

Mouse shrugs, sniffling and looking away from you. 

“No big deal,” he throws a glance over his shoulder to the woman seated on the end of the circular couch, her attention fixed on a book pinned open under her elbow. “Hey Oxbow, you up to meeting the newbie?”

The woman’s eyes flick up from the book to fall upon you, and you watch her mouth curl up at the corners in an empty greeting, one meant for a stranger. The stranger-smile freezes on her face; and it occurs to you how unusual this woman looks with that smile. Warmth does not reach up to crease her big brown eyes, the shape and color so close to your own, those eyes that grow wider, wilder, brighter, chasing around your face, desperately seeking. Neither of you say a word, staring at one another in dumb, rapturous silence.

“Breeze?” 

When you break the quiet, the woman- this woman with your father’s dark curls and your mother’s bright eyes who they had called Oxbow but to you had always been Breeze, your eldest sister. Breeze tries to rise and falters under her own weight, which is enough to break you from your stupor. You stumble forward, half bent in front of her, clutching the points of her elbows with all the tenderness you can manage. Her own hands reach up and cup your face, hands that have not touched your skin in ten years. Hands you believed you would never feel upon your cheek again. 

“Lore,” her voice is older now, greyer, choked with tears; but it still carries the same tone, and says your name, a name so few have called you. Your brow falls upon her shoulder and you are overcome too. “You're actually here. Lore. You’re alive.” 

“I’m alive,” your voice does not sound like your own, you've never heard yourself so reverent, almost laughing through your tears. Your name in your sister’s voice warms you like the first breath of spring, joy flooding like a river through a dam washing out all your pain. She is here, she is alive, she is safe, she is- 

“You're going to have a baby!” you cry, rearing back in shock to get a better look at her. 

Her thumbs scrub tears out from under your eye, she is laughing, and it is like no time has passed; you are eight years old again, being goaded away from a terrible nightmare. Breeze sighs, wet with tears but joyful. Familiar. 

“Yes. In three months. And you-“ her voice breaks and you squeeze her hands between yours. “You’ll be here.”

You nod, a sobbing laugh bubbling in your throat. 

“I thought-” 

“Woah, hold the fuck up- holy fucking shit- you’re Lore?” Mouse sputters, jabbing a finger at you. You startle, having forgotten about your audience. 

“Yes?”

Beech’s dark eyes scrunch in a fond smile, a restrictive hand pulling Mouse back by the shoulder. 

“I wish we could’a known your name from the start.” Beech says, his warm voice colored by his lingering smile. “Would’a saved us all a lot of grief.” 

“Well I... I could have done with a warmer welcome.” Sitting beside your sister, it sounds like a joke, and your little audience laughs. 

“Giants aren't really known for their bedside manner,” Mouse quips back, smiling. You smile too, something bright uncurling in you like a fern. “This team is one of the best groups you could have run into, though. I’m glad you wussed out on leaving.” 

“Me too,” you croak. Your sister’s presence chases away the nightmarish danger of this place- softens the deep shadows, and shifts your perspective so entirely that it leaves you dizzy. You turn back to her, still clutching her hands between yours. “You… trust them? You’ve been safe here?” You ask your sister, quiet and trembling. She nods, closing her eyes as a fresh wave of tears overtakes her. 

“Yes,” she says. “I trust them.” “The giants…” “Yes, I trust them too.” 

“Is…” The question fills your mouth with dry ash, sticking to your tongue. “Is Verity with you?” 

Her agonized flash of teeth answers you. “She…” Her watery gaze flickers to the far side of the room, where Beech and Mouse still stand side by side. “Could we have a minute?” 

“‘Course,” Beech mutters, grabbing Mouse’s shoulder and directing him to the door. “C’mon, kid.”

“Wait, what?!” Mouse protests, digging in his heels. “Hey! Beech!” 

“We’ll see you in the mornin’.” Beech assures them, strong-arming Mouse through a set of metal doors in the back of the room. “It was nice meetin’ ya, Lore. Glad we’ve finally got everything settled. Say bye Mouse.” “Bye…” Mouse grumbles, casting a baleful look at you and Breeze. Then, the metal doors snap shut, closing the two of them off from your view. You wait for a moment, but the circular room is silent but for your sister’s tearful breathing. 

“Are we alone?” “Yes.” She wipes her face, and stares at you with wide, transfixed eyes. “The giants can't hear us, and the others went to the second floor.” 

“What happened to Vera?” you rasp, shoulders bowing under this heavy miracle that has been thrown onto your back,.

“I don't know,” Breeze sighs, taking your hand once more. “I hoped you two were together somewhere when the fire came.” 

“How did you get out?” 

“I smelled smoke on the wind, bitter smoke, like death. I told Mom in time, but we spent too long searching for you and Vera, and then the fire was on top of us. It was so hot and bright- it was like another world. We couldn't keep searching. I’m sorry.” 

“Mom’s alive?” “No,” Breeze’s head falls, tears like rain behind her lashes. “She was burned in the fire… I tried to keep her alive until we could find help, but we couldn't travel, we weren't anywhere near a main path… I had no supplies. Nothing.” 

“You did everything you could.” she lets go of your hand, wiping her eyes furiously. 

“It’s never enough…” She grits. “I lost Tracker too.” 

“Tracker?”

“My husband,” she leans against you, shutting her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself. “Raiders ambushed us- they set a trap, they wanted the horses, the van, they wanted us. They broke into the caravan and lined us up against the wall, tied up most of us. Tracker distracted them, I ran while they… they beat him. I left him; I left all of them.” Her breath hitches, her fingers digging into your shoulder in agony. “He could be dead. Worse than dead.” 

“If he’s alive…” you , lay your hand over hers, trembling.  “Then we will find him. Him and Verity.” 

“I can't leave until the baby’s born,” Breeze rubs a hand over her stomach. “And even then… I… I can't rationalize taking an infant on a search like that. I don't even know where to start looking, even if he is alive.” 

“Can’t the giants help you find him?” “No,” Breeze shakes her head. “Not without terrifying every human that sees them. If Tracker is free and able, then he’s searching for me- but he’s miles away from here, and he’d never approach a camp of giants.” 

“Can't they send out one of their ambassadors on the search?” “Beech and Mouse have a bad reputation with most of the bigger human settlements out here. I don't think anyone would be very eager to talk to them.”  

The two of you sit in silence. Something is ticking, somewhere in the room, ticking like a clock. A sigh shudders from your lungs, and you cover your disbelieving eyes. 

“...It’s late,” Breeze says finally, shifting her weight. “And you’ve been through the wringer. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.” 

You nod and follow your sister to the sliding metal doors that Beech and Mouse had disappeared through. Breeze jabs a button, which glows an eerie red as the doors slide open on their own. 

“It’s safe,” she assures as soon as you step into the tiny room the doors open to. You furrow your brow at her, but she ignores your dubious look, pressing another button on the inside of the tiny room. “I hated this thing when I first got here, but it really is the best way up.” 

“How would this-” you cut yourself off with a terrified yelp as the room quakes in place and starts to lift of the ground with the two of you still inside. “BREEZE!” 

“Ow! Let go of me!” you release her arm with a breathless apology, still staring in horror at the little room shuddering all around you. “Calm down. We’re in an elevator; it’s a box being pulled on metal cables.” 

“What if they break?” 

“They won’t. I’ve ridden this thing hundreds of times, do you think I’d be stupid enough to ride it every day if it wasn't safe?” 

You shift anxiously as the box lurches to a stop and goes still, an unseen bell chiming cheerfully. Her question is rhetorical. After so many years, she still knows your answer. 

“No,” you sigh. “I trust you.” 

The doors slide open, revealing a scene so surreal that your eyes start to strain, unable to make sense of so much green. Atop the table, where the elevator had taken you, there is a tiny, idyllic settlement. The tiled roofs of little wooden houses poke behind shallow green hills, sloping down into an imperfect ring of trees circling a burbling stream. 

“Are we still… in the tent?” you ask, jogging to catch up with your sister, already disappearing down one of the shadowed footpaths worn into the grass. She snorts, nodding her head as you pull up to walk beside her. You look around at the dimly lit area, frowning as more details of the strange space emerge from the darkness. The leaves in the trees are totally still, the grass they walk on is perfect and green despite being hidden from the sun. You frown as you pass the little stream, of which you can now see is drawn up from an invisible source to cascade down a cairn of black stones. When you turn your gaze up, trying to peer past the trees and low hills, you see the shimmer of a wall netting surrounding the table, almost invisible in the dark. 

“This is an enclosure.” 

“You can leave through the elevator,” Breeze says, turning around to squint at you. “Unless you’d like to try falling fifty feet twice in one day.” 

You swallow, kneeling down to peer closer at the running water. She has a point and you know it, but there’s only so much that knowledge can do for you. Any giant, in a moment of blinding rage, could lash out and kill all of you in a moment, even accidentally. Unconcerned, Breeze continues down the path, pulling you out of your investigation of the brook-- or whatever it’s supposed to be. 

“Would they let you leave, if you wanted to?” 

“I can't leave,” she says easily, pushing a bent sapling up and out of the path. “Not until the baby’s born and I have a lead on finding Tracker.” 

“But if you wanted to, you could?” 

Breeze slows to a stop outside of a small wooden cabin and turns to look at you. 

“I can’t think like that, Lore.” she tells you, shaking her head. “I don't want to leave, and when I do want to, they’ll help me. Going out on my own would be a death sentence. I can't find anyone if I’m dead. I never would have found you if I was dead.” 

She turns to the little house and opens the door, shouldering loose when it sticks. It opens onto a simple room with raw wood walls. There is a bed and a bookshelf and a shiny nightstand. There is a glass oil lamp sitting on top. The room is featureless, and the nicest place you’ve stayed since you lost your first home. 

“They really do want to protect us, you know. Protect all of humanity.” Breeze says, pulling open a drawer and lighting the oil lamp. She sits in an armchair, gentle lamplight flickering over her face. She watches yours, smiling at your silence . “Atlas was the one who found me. I’d say I wish he’d been the one to find you instead of Caelum, but then you never would have come here.” 

“Did Atlas take you here?” 

“He convinced me to come,” Breeze says, settling back in the armchair. “Wasn't a very hard sell. My other choice was to go on drinking from puddles.” 

You drop your coat and boots in the corner by the door, your eyes roving over the intricate bedspread, the creased leather books,  the shining rectangular frame that you perceive as a painting- then a window, and then rear back in shock when you recognize your own face within the little frame.  

“A mirror!” you blurt, stepping closer to the little sheet of glass. There had been a mirror in your mother’s room. An old silver mirror that stood as tall as she was. “Oh. I look… bad.” 

“Well, I wasn't gonna say it,” says Breeze’s reflection behind you. You draw your gaze up to meet your own eyes, bloodshot, exhausted, older. You look… not like a stranger, although that’s what you see at first. Your face has gotten a little longer and your cheekbones more defined in a way that makes you look more like your father. Your hair has grown, falling in dark rings around your hollow cheeks and long down the back of your neck. It clumps together in places, thick with mud and sweat and blood. There is a long streak of black across your brown skin. With the neck of your shirt, you scrub at it. 

“I’ll show you where the washrooms are tomorrow,” Breeze promises. “A good night’s sleep will be enough for now.” 

Your frowning reflection doesn't change much, dirt still streaked over your brow. “I won’t be able to sleep,” you admit, brows furrowing over your dark eyes. “This is crazy, all of this is impossible. What if when I wake up…” 

The words fail you. You can see your fear in her eyes, and you know that she understands. 

“When you wake up, I’ll still be here.” Breeze rises from her armchair, the floorboards creaking under her as she makes her way across the little room to you. “I’ll take you to get a hot bath and some breakfast, I’ll show you around, introduce you to everyone properly and I’ll tell you about everything you’ve missed.” 

She puts her hand on your shoulder, dark eyes teary and fervid. 

“And one day… once this baby is born, we are going to leave this place and find what we lost. But right now you need sleep.” 

You sigh, skirting your sister and sitting down heavily on the foot of the narrow bed. It bounces under you with an odd metallic creak, but it is beyond comfortable all the same. Your hands tremble as you sigh again, smoothing over a quilt too intricate to exist. Something trembles inside of you like an animal. 

“…What if I read you something?” Breeze suggests, whisper quiet, pausing by the low bookshelf. “Like when we were little. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.” 

You lay back stiffly atop the sheets, shutting your eyes. The lamplight glows through them, illuminating your world a dim pink. You trace winding red paths of the thin veins in your eyelids, feel the soreness in your chest pulling tight on every breath. 

“Sounds nice,” you mutter, cracking open your eyes. “I haven't read much since the fire.” 

Breeze stoops down to investigate the sparse shelf in the unadorned room, silently flipping through a few small leather bound books. “Do you like plays, poems, or novels?” 

“I don't care,” you sigh tiredly, pulling back the quilt to shuffle under it. “You can pick.” 

“Alright,” Breeze says, sitting back down in her armchair with a palm-sized book. The spine crackles when she opens the little book to the first page, the papers shuffle as she flips through the title pages and stops, clearing her throat. 

“Long ago, in a distant land, there was a castle owned by a great Baron. In that castle there lived a youth, whom nature had endowed with the most gentle manners. His countenance was a true picture of his soul. He combined a true judgment with simplicity of spirit, which was the reason, I apprehend, of his being called Candide.” 

Your sister’s voice skates over the meaningless words, her tone so full of warmth and memories that you want to stay awake to hear the ending. It makes the span of ten years seem a little less vast. 

“The Baron was one of the most powerful lords in all the land, for his castle had not only a gate, but windows. His great hall, even, was hung with tapestry. All the dogs of his farm-yards formed a pack of hounds at need; his grooms were his huntsmen. They called him "My Lord," and laughed at all his stories.” 

Your lip twitches up in a half smile; your eyes had closed at some point. You open them, blinking in the low light, and try to count the slats on the ceiling, then the dark whorls of pine knots, even as your eyelids try to flutter closed. 

“Pangloss was professor of metaphysico-theologico-cosmolo-nigology. He proved admirably that there is no effect without a cause, and that, in this best of all possible worlds, the Baron's castle was the most magnificent of castles…” 

When next you open your eyes it is to clean daylight. 

You scramble upright, your hands reaching out to grasp at the world around you, patting down your body while your heart slows and your mind pieces together the events of yesterday. Your tingling arms fall heavy into your lap, fingers still numb with sleep. You had found your sister. Breeze. Oxbow. One missing piece of the family you once were. You turn to the chair she had occupied, the little book left behind, marked at the halfway point with a slip of paper. 

You rise, sitting on the edge of the bed and running your fingers through your dirty hair, frowning at the reminder of your need for a wash. You stand, stretch, and scrounge around on the ground for a couple of seconds to find your boots and coat. According to Beech, the giants had transported most of your things here, so hopefully you’d have access to more than just this set of clothes. This set was probably unsalvageable from the moment you were shut in that horse pen two days ago. Regardless, you pull your coat and boots over your soiled clothes and ruffle your hair ineffectively in the mirror before opening the door into the strange settlement. 

The grass is a vivid green, even more so in the daylight. It is cropped close to the ground, softer than any grass you’ve felt before. You lean down to brush your fingers against the strange carpet and feel that it is a carpet of damp moss. You hum, turning your attention to the trees that dot the little park, clustered in a copse near your cabin. The trees are varied, some leaves a deep wine color, some shockingly verdant, and a few sweet-smelling trees in full bloom, drifting tiny petals lazily through the air. Tearing your eyes away from the sprawling plant life, you tread over to the cabin your sister had pointed out last night as her own, stepping up the short stoop and knocking twice. No response comes, so you knock again.

“Hello?”  

“Over here!” Breeze calls, not from inside the cabin but behind it, making you blink in surprise and circle back to walk behind the house. 

“What are you doing?” You call to her as you approach her kneeling figure, watching as she rises slowly from a small plot of upturned dirt. She gestures at the little green shoots sticking out of the ground in even rows around her, smiling. 

“Planting tomatoes,” she says, putting her trowel-wielding hands on her hips. “It’s supposed to be hot later today, so I’m finishing early.” 

You kneel down where she had been, holding out your hand in silent request for the trowel, and start to dig little holes in evenly spaced rows. Probably better to get this done before you’re shown the bathhouse. The dirt is cool and wet under your hands, it feels rich; it smells like rain, it is dark and fine and easy to dig through. Back home, your cabin with the willow tree and the river, the dirt was hard, grey and sandy. For too many months out of the year, it was impossible to break through the frozen crust atop the soil. 

“I had pumpkins growing at my… well, the place I was staying,” You muse, picking up a tomato plant in cupped hands and transferring it into the soil. “Animals have probably gotten into them by now.” 

“We’ll plant new pumpkins.” Breeze assures you, passing you another young plant. “We can make pumpkin soup, pumpkin pie, and pasta and salad and risotto! Oh, you have no idea what we can do with food, Lore. There are whole shelves of cookbooks in the library.” 

“There’s a library here?” 

The night is so dark and so still around you; but you can feel the buzzing life of the forest at your back. The cicadas have started shrilling again, in the silence. When had you turned to face him again? This coward who shies away from you after taking so much. 

“You’ve ruined my life,” you tell the giant. He says nothing to rebuff you; you can see the moon shining in his eyes and nothing more. “You did it just because you could. You’re… you’re a monster. That’s what you are.” 

This cuts a ragged sound from him. You leap back as his massive form shifts, but his terrible hands do not leap out to grab you. He lowers himself until he is supine, and lays his cheek in the grass. You step back, edging under the shadows of the leaves. The giant is crying. 

‘Good, let him cry!’ You think, even as some young part of you twitches to banish the watery, devastated look in his eyes. At such a scale it is quite disturbing to look at. 

“I am so sorry,” his voice, even in a strangled whisper, is so much louder than anything you’ve heard before. You feel the flow of warm air carried on his breath and cringe away. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but- but please. Please, let me atone. I will do anything, I will find a way to give you what you deserve. Please let us heal you, I-“ Something in Caelum’s expression crumples and he hides his face in shadows. “I cannot stand to be the reason… I cannot… I…” 

The foliage is over your head now, shading you from the world. He can’t stand it, can he? To cause your death? He would have crumbled into sobbing nothing if he had lived your life. He would have died if he stood where you stood. You are not like this towering giant, you have never felt smaller, and he uses all his power to cry over your death as you stand alive in front of him. 

“I could never live here like this. Like your ambassadors.” 

“You wouldn't," Caelum pleads with a slight shake of his head. “There are sanctuaries run by HPARC, they are protected spaces for humans.” 

“Protected from monsters like you?” 

“… I’m sorry.” Caelum whispers, his voice cracked down the middle. “I’m so sorry. It’s our fault you live in such a dismal world.” 

“I want to go home. Take me home.” “You’ll die if you do.” 

“What do you know?” You snarl, taking another step back towards the woods. “I’ve been out on my own for a decade, do you think I’ve always had that house? You think we all would die like insects the moment we aren’t under your protection? I never knew your kind existed before you swiped me up, how could I ever have needed you?” 

Until now. Uprooted and diverted from your sandy little path. You need help now. Now you are not just isolated but alone, the way that an animal is alone. Solitary, shoeless, and almost naked in the cold. 

“Just take me home.” You force out.

“You’ll die.”  

“I’ve survived ten years on my own, just take me home.”

“The other humans- they’ll kill you if you ever go back. You’re injured, you’re outcast-“ 

“Because of you.” You are screaming, your hands are coming up, hiding your face- there is something like shame, or the panic of a hunted animal. You can feel your heat draining down into the earth, now that you’ve stopped moving, and it feels like death beneath your feet. 

“You could be happy here,” Caelum whispers, his face hidden in his folded arm. “You wouldn't have to be alone.” 

“I was happy,” the words taste dusty and well-tread. “You took that from me too. You’ve taken everything.” 

Misery, what had been a wisp in your anger, now crashes over you with enough force to collapse you. You sit down upon a dead stump and begin to cry. “You’ve stolen everything from me.” 

You weep for everything you’ve lost, your cottage and your garden, your willow tree, your river, your sisters, your mother, every home you’ve ever had, you cry- and when you open your eyes you meet the watery pools of Caelum’s. Your agony catches this kindling and flares hotly in his direction. 

“Stop watching me!” You shriek, waving your arms about wildly. You wish you had something heavy to lob at him. “I am not for you! Cursed voyeur! You think yourself a savior? Beast!” 

He turns away, tucking his head back into his arm, but you can still hear his muffled sobbing, echoing in his chest. It is an intimate thing to hear, so loud and close, and it makes your skin crawl. You turn your face up to the sky, half hidden by the dying leaves. The stars are out now, those mysterious, reliable little lights that have been here forever, the only thing unchanging about your world. 

Are they people? You wonder. Are they like me? How many places are there, just in this world? How many humans? How many giants? Does every one of them want to live as badly as you do? Are they burning with it, like a star inside their own bodies? Your sister warned you once about drinking still water, how desperate men would die if they tried it. You asked her if it was better to die of thirst, and you can't remember her answer. You cannot ask her now. Not ever again. You open your mouth to speak and you choke- tonight could be the last night you see the stars. Tomorrow will see you either dead or under someone else’s power; you can spare yourself a bit more time to look at the night sky.

Eventually, Caelum ceases his crying, just lies there in the dirt, his face hidden in his folded arm. Almost all your warmth has bled out of you, the wind cuts over your arms, through the holes in your shirt. Like an icy hand closing over the back of your neck. 

“Call your people.” you rasp. Your voice is lost in the shuffling leaves. Caelum stays buried in his misery. You raise your voice up to him, miserable and forceful. “Call your people.” “What?” Caelum croaks; you hear the bones of his neck creak as he raises the weight of his head, wet, shocked eyes fixing on you. “Are you-”

“Call them,” you mutter, scrubbing your face of the tears cooling on your face. “It doesn't matter now.” 

Is it bravery to fall into their hands? Is it cowardice to- even now, here, at this precipice, be unable to relinquish yourself into the hands of a frigid death? Was it cowardice or bravery when you came upon your family home consumed in flames and ran far and fast? Is that what you are? A foolhardy coward who is too afraid to take the final step into the dark, regardless of the consequences you’ll face? 

Whatever you may be doesn't matter now. Caelum has retrieved something from his pocket and is speaking into it, and already you feel movement in the ground, subtle vibrations of some great beast beginning to shift across the campsite. You have made your choice, you have your answer. 

Caelum does not speak to you while you wait for the other giant to arrive. You can hear his breathing, like strange wind, stuttering and stopping with the threat of tears. A blanket of numb despair settles over your shoulders, doing nothing to keep out the chill. You wish you had never found out how small and worthless humans really are in this world. You wish you had remained ignorant, when your biggest concern was preparing enough food for Winter. The vibrations take the shape of footsteps, getting closer to you, rattling through the ground and shaking the branches of the trees over your head. 

Death approaches like a landslide, then halts entirely. The rumbling stops just before coming into view, the white tent concealing the massive figure you know is there. You strain your eyes through the dark, trying to catch a glimpse of a shadow or a face, trying to see which of the giants has been sent to recapture you. Instead, your eyes dart down to a tiny figure running around the bend of the tent. You cannot see their features in the dark, but you can see their shape and size, you see moonlight glinting off of worn work-denim and know who has come for you. Beech slows to a stop before you; breathing heavily through his nose, which somehow does not affect the somber way he regards you, still collapsed on a tree stump, tears dripping into the soil. 

“Are ya’ hurt?” he asks. 

“Nah,” you reply. You are hurting, but it’s nothing anyone can fix in a night and he knows it. “Not bad.” 

“Are ya’ done running?”

You nod, shame swelling in your throat, and the ambassador pulls you to your feet. There he fusses over you briefly, examining the new scrapes and the dark bruise all along your right side that you’d gained since you’d last seen him. Caelum, who slowly rises behind him, wiping tears and snot from his face, goes completely ignored by Beech in favor of detailing exactly how worried he’s been while he combs through your hair for blood. 

“Ya got lucky survivin’ a fall like that,” he scolds after deeming you aren't about to drop dead. Your side aches in one great swath over your side, a bruise itching like burned flesh, but none of that is going to kill you. Beech sighs, stepping away from you. “Ah think you should stay in the human apartments for now. Sendin’ ya back to the giants wouldn't be good for anyone right now. Up you get. Come on.” “What’s going to happen to me?” You ask, stumbling back toward the camp, towed along by Beech, who follows Caelum’s retreating mass around the tent. 

“Well, since ah doubt you’d wanna stay here, you’ll be taken to a sanctuary once you’ve healed up. Think of it like a large village under the protection a’ HPARC, where people are safe to live and grow their commun’ties.” 

“I don't want to go there either,” You mutter, clinging to his coat. “I want to rely on myself. I don't wanna trust them with that, not every day. I can’t imagine… I can’t…” Beech is silent, the tamped dirt crunches in the treads of his boots, you curl over your folded arms, anxious and cold. Animals shift and call to each other at your back, before the giant’s quiet conversation silences them. Caelum speaks to someone hidden behind the white walls of the tent, words too distorted by size and distance for you to make out. 

“If you don’t wanna go to a sanctuary, then we’ll sneak you into a real town.” Beech tells you. “It’s against HPARC’s rules- technically, but yer still off book, I’d wager. We can drop ya off a few miles outsida’ town and have ya walk the rest of the way there.” “Have you done that before?”  “Oh yeah, many times. Knowin’ when to break th’ rules is an important part’a my job, an’ that kinda thing can only be learned by livin’ as humans do.” 

“...I didn’t know that giants even existed before I… met Caelum.” You tell him, trudging alongside Beech, keeping your eyes on the stars. “I lived in a secluded little house far away from here. No one ever told me about… anything, I guess.” 

“‘ts no way to raise a kid,” Beech grunts. “Most people see a giant at least once in their life, you’re setting ‘em up for a nasty shock when they leave home.” 

“I wouldn’t have left my home,” you mutter. “Not if I’d had the choice." 

“Not many get to choose,” Beech slows down as the two of you approach the edge of the tent, past which giant voices whisper wordlessly 100 feet into the air. “ ‘M sorry it happened to you kid.” 

You are choked by fear and a nakedness of spirit that frightens you further; you cannot reply to his kindness. Like a child, you reach out and take hold of Beech’s thick jacket sleeve; the strong, rough but worn weave of denim between your fingers awakens you. 

“Now what?” You ask him softly. 

“Atlas will take us to the other humans.” Your stony silence tells him well enough what you think of that. 

“Ya’ve walked enough on yer injuries fer one night.” Beech argues, though from the look in his eyes you know he understands your distaste. “Atlas can carry us in less than a minute, unless ya’d prefer Caelum…” 

“It doesn't matter,” you can feel the giant’s movements in the ground beneath you, in the air, so much more real seeming than the denim you cling to. “Either way it’s… it doesn't matter.” 

Beech grunts and adjusts something in his ear, a small shiny black object that you had not noticed before. He whistles, short and sharp, and speaks. 

“Aye, Atlas. We’re ready fer pickup. 12 o’clock, 35-odd feet from ya.” 

“Heard Beech,” the response emanates from behind the tent; a male voice that is loud and full and so, so high above you- you take a half-step back, not letting go of Beech. “Approaching.” 

The still darkness behind the tent splits, and a great, grasping hand materializes from the blackness. You bite down on a scream, and Beech grabs hold of your wrist, preventing you from running. The hand descends, so much closer to you so quickly, attached to the long shape of a wrist, extending into a shoulder belonging to Atlas, one of the giants who had been searching for you- the biggest one, the one who is slowly forming in the moonlight. When you can tear your gaze away from the reaching hand, you see huge eyes fixed onto you. You freeze, fearful steam rising in a white column from your mouth. 

“I won’t hurt you,” Atlas whispers like the grinding of the earth.  “You do not need to be afraid.” His hand lowers, palm up, until it is resting on the hard dirt, a too-eagerly awaiting platform. A platform with many, many scars on the leathered skin, crisscrossing over his palms and fingers, perhaps evidence of other humans that had tried and failed to retaliate against him. Beech tugs your wrist and tows you along in small, reluctant steps to the giant figure. You approach the steep step of Atlas’ hand and are given no time to hesitate before Beech is boosting you up onto the hand. You wince away from the feeling of thick, finely ridged skin stretched like a tight carpet over what is unmistakably living muscle. You make the mistake of looking up at Altas when you falter at the feeling, and the weight of his gaze nearly sends you toppling backward, held upright only by Beech’s hand on your shoulder. You crawl slowly into the heated valley created by his palm, and scoot into the lowest point, enclosed by walls of skin. Warmth slowly seeps through your legs, but you cannot enjoy the absence of chill, entirely aware of how- if the giant should choose, he could close his hand and crush you to death in one motion. Beech, walking on the edge of the giant’s palm leans in and pulls the massive thumb over your thighs where it remains, like the safety bar of a motor car. Beech stays standing, holding himself steady on Atlas’ index with one hand like a lifelong sailor. 

“Are you ready?” Beech asks of you, dark eyes peering discerningly. You nod, your throat too thick to speak. He smiles at you, you see the white curve of his teeth for a second, in the moonlight. Then he turns his face up to the giant, securing his grip. “We’re ready.” 

Somehow, high above you, Atlas hears the quiet words, and the living platform shifts. You had not realized just how still the body beneath you was until it is moving again, lifting you up in a rush of cold air streaking the night-dark world into fingerpainted colors. Then you are what feels like hundreds of feet in the air, the night sky closer than it's ever been, like a painted bowl placed over the world. Atlas’ thumb stays securely over your thighs; when you look up Beech is smiling at you from where he still stands like a sailor on Atlas’ palm. Then his gaze shifts, falls somewhere to your right, and hardens. You follow his eyes and turn your head to see Caelum, standing like a scolded child in the shadow of the tent. 

“...May I come with you?” Caelum asks haltingly. You struggle, for a moment, to understand who he’s asking. “Traveler?” And, well. He certainly looks less monstrous from this angle; his damp eyes are no longer quite as disturbing. 

“Alright,” you say, shifting uneasily under Atlas’ thumb. The appendage exerts enough pressure to keep you from falling and no more. “You can stay for now.” 

Caelum relaxes so massively and completely that you almost expect to see steam rising from his body. 

“Thank you,” his voice is too loud to miss, but the words are hushed, low as the crickets and peeping frogs that still sing in the forest behind you. 

“Are you ready?” Beech asks, solemn and patient. “If ya need a few minutes-“ 

You shake your head, clenching and unclenching your hand, uncomfortably aware of every part of your body where you are touching a stranger’s skin. 

“No, I’m ready. I… I don’t want to just sit here.” Beech nods soberly, and turns to level Atlas with that same serious gaze. No words are exchanged between the two, but the hand shifts around you. 

“It won’t be more than a minute.” Atlas’ voice rattles through your body, the vibrations mapping out the shape of your bones inside of you. They feel uniquely delicate, as frail as a caught bird’s. Then, with one smooth step into motion, the giant is moving at an even stride, carrying you in a steady open hand that rocks like a sailboat in a calm ocean. Beech stays standing, wrapping one thick arm around Atlas’ finger and squinting out into the night, swaying slightly up-and-down with the motion of his hand. Caelum follows behind the three of you, heard only in the steps that sound almost like human ones from your new height, crunching over the dry dirt. 

“… who else is here?” You ask Beech once the silence becomes too much to bear. Your heart sinks at the thought of facing a crowd of people tonight, dirty and battered and tiny as you are. “How many other humans?”

“There’s me, another permanent resident called Mouse, and a temporary stay named Oxbow, if you include yourself, there’s four humans.” Beech pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Or… five, I suppose, Oxbow is pregnant.” 

“Oh.” Your nerves swing in another direction. Why so few people? “Were there others here before? What happened to them?” 

“Most choose not ‘t stay here long. We found ‘em all someplace safe, and we’ll do the same for you.” The ride continues on, the ground rushing underneath you like a lightless ocean as you approach a tent in the center of the camp. 

“Why did Mouse and Oxbow stay?” 

“Oxbow was separated from her caravan an’ chose to wait out her pregnancy here, and Mouse is… Mouse.” 

“Hm.” 

The passing world slows and stops in front of the tent, lit warmly from within. 

“We’ve arrived.” Atlas rumbles softly, vibrating through the bones you sit upon. You are here, your only source of shelter. Your only chance at continued survival and what could be a prison that you never walk out of. Atlas doesn't move and Beech doesn't speak, but you can feel both of their eyes on you.

“What’s in there?” You ask, your voice is hushed below the giant’s hearing.

“’s where they keep the human apartments. Difficult to describe, if you’ve never seen it,” Beech hums, scratching his beard. “It’s not like the transport container you came in on, if yer worried about that. We all got our own place ‘t sleep… there’s a kitchen and a pantry, we even got a walking trail with plants and runnin’ water. ‘s nicer than a lot of places I’ve lived, really.” 

You stare at the mountainous tent, wind ruffling your hair and chilling you against the heat of Atlas’ hand. Neither men move, giving you a moment to breathe. Your eyes catch Caelum’s, whom you had nearly forgotten, standing shadowed behind Atlas, his miserable gaze reflecting yours. 

“Promise me I won't be here forever,” you plead to Beech. “Tell me that if they do something to me… if they try to- to- you’ll-“ 

“I will not let them hurt you,” A hand- a human hand, settles heavy on your shoulder, silencing your begging. You shudder and reach up to clutch Beech’s wrist- his pulse is warm and steady under your fingers. He doesn't show an ounce of fear, surefooted on this swaying hand, 100 feet into the air. That trust must mean something, if Beech is still here to give it. 

‘How could you stop them?’ You can’t ask it, not while sitting in a human hand spread out in dizzying perspective. You shake your head instead, a hot tear dripping from your nose. You sigh and swallow, you let go of Beech to swipe your hands through your hair. 

“Alright.” you rasp, regaining hold of Atlas’ thumb. You say no more, and it is silent, but Beech must give the giant some sort of signal, because the three of you move smoothly forward. The hand not holding you lifts up, slow in its enormity, and opens the tent with a sharp, metallic sound, letting the warm light from inside the tent spill out onto you. Beech stays beside you as you move inside, bracing himself on your shoulder against the gentle sway. Atlas ducks through the entrance, into stiller, warmer air. You blink in the new light and feel your eyes fix on a warmly glowing lantern on a far shelf. If you were standing beside it you doubt you’d be able to tell what it was, it would just look like eccentric architecture- like a lighthouse in a dream. From so high up, it is not as difficult to determine your surroundings. You cast your eyes around the tent as Atlas walks further into the space, followed by Caelum, who wordlessly closes the tent behind him with another metallic sound. Beech nudges your shoulder and nods toward one wall of the tent,  where stands a table that, to a giant, would be waist high. To you, it is a massive plateau, and atop it are houses, small and square and colorful, surrounding a copse of trees that jut up out of the table around a stone fountain, all enclosed by a fine mesh wall. Your eyes catch on the garish yellow slides that spill out from the sides of the table, heading to the floor, where there are two other buildings, larger than the little cabins,still dwarfed by the high ceiling of the table. The lodgings are far more generous than you’d been picturing, sure, but the idyllic nature of the settlement clashes with your unshakeable awareness of the cavernous, inescapable tent that surrounds you. 

“My stomach hurts,” you mutter to Beech, scrubbing your hands over your eyes and relishing in the momentary reprieve from all this unnatural light. Beech’s broad hand rubs your shoulder, and you gaze blearily up at him. 

“Things’ll  look different in the mornin’,” He sounds so sure of what he tells you. His certainty is one that comes with wisdom, with long, hard years lived alone. Maybe he was where you are, once, when he was your age. When he was first taken by them maybe he spit and fought and gave everything he had- maybe he gave more than you. But he is still here. “You’ll see.” 

The leader turns back to you, where you lay, still pressed into the center of Caelum's cupped hands. 

“Rafael here is a medical expert with extensive experience working on humans,” Rafael, a monolithic shape backlit by the sun, raises a hand as big as your body in silent greeting. Thoughtlessly, you raise your hand back. “Would you be comfortable with him examining your injuries?” 

“Don't touch me.” You snap, your arms coming up to wrap around yourself. You hadn't expected to be able to speak. You know how slim the weight of your words are here, but the thought of new strange fingers brushing down your body, seeking out your injuries,  makes your insides roll and your mouth work without you. 

“We won't touch you if you don't want us to,” Rafael says lowly, leaning forward with a gust of displaced air. “Are you up to answering a few questions? Just to gauge the state of your injuries.” 

You stare up at the medic hesitantly, wracking your brain for ways that they could potentially use that information against you. 

“...Okay.”

 “Thank you. Where are you hurting?” 

“I …” you look down at your body, the front of your clothes stained dark red at the collar. “The middle?” 

“Are you bleeding from your mouth?” 

“Just my nose … I think. I don't know what happened.” 

“That's alright. Take a deep breath, please, and tell me if there's any pain in your chest.” 

You do as the medic asks, and wince at the deep sting that wraps around your chest like a constricting band. 

“It hurts.” You confirm. 

“Like a bruise or a broken bone?” 

You press your fingers into your sternum, frowning severely. 

“Broken bone.” 

You've had broken bones before. Thrown off a horse or falling out of a tree, but now you are alone. Now it could down you, could stop you from doing the work you need to do to live. The thought drags you down to other ones, grim ones. Your only traders would kill you if they saw you again. You're more alone now than you've ever been before, injured and low on stores, with winter fast approaching. 

You miss Rafael’s next question. 

“What?” 

“Have you had any nausea or vomiting?” 

“No. I'm dizzy, but- no.” 

“Good. We'll get some water and food into you and get you under an X-ray to see what's broken. Make sure it can heal with just some bedrest.” The medic seems relieved, and their leader turns away, seemingly done with the examination. You are not so satisfied. 

“Hold on,” you say, gritting your teeth when you feel three pairs of giant eyes snap to you. You swallow, trying and failing to work your voice back up for several seconds. “... I can't- I can't rest. Winter's coming on.” 

They only stare at you in silence. Rafael breaks first, eyes darting away with something that looks unnervingly like guilt. Their silence makes your skin crawl, the bone deep terror that had only just started to ebb rises up again like stormy water, crashing at the sides of you and spurring your hands to shake. 

“Let's just get this over with,” the leader sighs, still turned away, her massive body hunched over something that you cannot see. “Bring them here, Caelum.” 

The tempest crashes over you and you scream, high and long like a child in a nightmare, and scramble for the ground. They can't make you hunt down other humans with two broken legs, and a 20 foot drop is nothing compared to whatever horrors are hiding behind the leader's body. The hands close you into darkness again, making your howling screams ring around you in the tiny space. You pound on the walls, fury finally rearing its head. 

“LET ME GO!” You howl, clawing and beating at the flesh around you. “LET ME GO NOW!” 

“Hurry.” A thunderous voice rolls through the woods, and then the hands are moving, lurching you forward with them, you bite your tongue as you are thrown against the nearest wall of flesh. The hands open to an unnatural whiteness, and then you are falling out of the giant's hands, hitting the floor on your front, grunting in pain. You roll onto your back, staring up at the giant who is looking down at you with so much fear and guilt that you almost want to scream at him. You look away, at the room you've been dropped in. The ground under your body is padded, the elbow you hold yourself up with is sinking into it.  You can't help but look away from the giant, to gaze at the strange perfect walls, uniformly padded with soft, white material and meeting in four corners like a gift-box. 

There is no door. 

“What- no, wait-” you are speaking without hearing yourself, getting to your shaky feet on the soft, uneven ground and reaching up, so stupidly reaching up for your captor. He is lifting something up, four matching corners, the flat lid of a box. You are still inside. 

“Just let me go, don't- don't kill me, don't take me-” you plead, your voice choked, your throat burning hot. The giant eyes have darted away, teeth bigger than your head bite a massive lip, but the hands do not stop moving, lifting the dark square above the box you are trapped in, casting its grim shadow. You run into the only spot of light, reaching up again. “Wait, wait, Caelum, wait-” 

The box is shut into darkness, and you are alone in a room that is not a room. You think to scream, but you can hear the sound of it from the giant's perspective, tiny and trapped, like a dying mouse. You lean back into a corner and slide down the wall, resting your head in your knees. When you raise them again, a ring of soft lights have appeared, glowing along the top edge of the room. The strange light does not illuminate anything good, only casts alien shadows over the strange, quilted softness the room you will likely die in.  Something in the walls clunks mechanically loud and begins to hum and rattle. You rise, unsettled by the change, and step closer to the noise, your arms wrapped around your aching middle, and catch the smell of something disgustingly sweet. You curse and rear back, stumbling away, covering your mouth and nose with both hands, turning everything tacky with blood, the rust iron smell clogging your nose is made worse by the sweet smoke spilling into your mouth. You stagger back to your corner, but the smell is following you and you throw yourself into it and tuck your face into the shadowed corner, hiding from something unseen. It doesn't matter, the sweetness is in a thick layer over your tongue and you can feel your blood sparkling through your veins, starting to slow until it feels like syrup in winter, slowly dripping from the tap.  Your hands fall away from your face, fingers curling in a beautiful, poetic way, and your legs start to bend, your boots slide over the bumps in the soft ground. Up and down- like running your fingers down a washboard, and you are on your knees, your fingers are touching the wall and leaving red spots that are the only real thing in the world. You fall out from your corner and crawl away from the wall, you flop onto your back, stretched out on the padded ground, almost like a bed, looking up at the black ceiling. Can they see you? You wave, just in case. You try to, at least. Your hands and arms don't move, and in fact are starting to feel as though they are hovering above your true arms, rising higher and higher. The floor is getting softer underneath you, fizzling out into spun yarn, unwinding into a cloud, so soft you don't feel it beneath you anymore. Your whole body seems to be floating up, up, out of itself, and leaving you behind. 

The whisper is like a gust of wind through the room, this room that the giant could pick up like an apple crate. You can’t raise your head, you can’t open your eyes, you barely have the wherewithal to breathe.

“He ain’t gonna hurtcha’,” Beech says evenly at your side, startling you. “No one here will.” 

You don’t snap to Beech that he’s said that already, you don’t challenge him, shove him again and ask him how he expects to protect you from giants.  You think of Stormy, you remember the way he felt in your hand. Soft, barely there. The hard shape of a tiny, glasslike skeleton hidden under sparse layers of flesh and skin; you bury every other feeling. You are alive, if you keep fighting, if you keep running, you will live. Inside and out. 

“Alright.” You whisper, and lift your head to see the pale face of Rafael. He looks strange, more human than you’d expected when you’d been looking at him from so far below. He rests his chin on a the ground outside, his freckled face and rusty curls hiding whatever may lay out of the room. 

“Alright.” You say again, louder. Rafael’s eyes fall onto you, their green hue uncanny at his size. You feel your hair stand up under his gaze, but you swallow and nod firmly to the giant, your back and shoulders straight. Beech’s grip loosens, letting you retrieve your wrist and gently prod for bruises. “I’m ready for… I’m ready.”

“I’m happy to hear that. I’m Rafael. I’ll be in charge of most of your medical needs during your stay here, don’t worry though,  today is for preliminary info. So that means we’re going to get some measurements, check your injuries, and get a baseline for your vitals- nothing that will cause you any pain. Are you alright with that?” 

You nod blankly, barely managing not to dig in your heels as Beech begins to guide you firmly towards the giant. 

“They’re nervous,” Beech says, his hand not leaving your shoulder as he steers you to the edge of the room, the vacant wall opening out into a cavernous, alien space, mostly obscured by Rafael, who slowly leans back as the two of you approach. “So no sudden movements and no grabbin’; let’s try to make it quick, yeah?”

“Of course,” Rafael’s low voice rumbles under your feet, and he faces away from you for a moment, turns towards a gleaming metal structure that is easily larger than you, and takes it into his hands, looking like a strange, expensive trinket in his grasp. “Simplest first, let’s check your height and weight.” 

The contraption is set down on the ground outside the room that is beginning to take the shape of a gargantuan table. Beech’s hand is pushing you forward, a firm, even pressure, as though if he does it slowly enough you may not notice you are being pushed until you are already past the threshold. You glare over your shoulder at the man as you stumble out onto the flat expanse of what is indeed a table.  

“Take off your jacket and boots and stand on this platform.” Beech instructs, nudging you towards the shining machine. You kneel down, your muscles pulling painfully, to unlace your boots, your eyes darting up at your captors as you do. You slip your boots off and step onto the platform, the metal cold enough to bite through your thick socks and chill the pads of your feet. Rafael leans over the machine- and you, by extension, his strange green eyes narrowed to focus on something you cannot see. Beech leans in and moves something down with a mechanical click, brushing against the top of your head. 

“Okay, that’s 53.4 kilograms at 1.6 meters tall…”  Rafael murmurs, making the metal platform under you rattle faintly. The table you stand on has three edges, one blocked by the fake room behind you. The sides to your right and left have guard rails, they look low and easy to clear. “It’s certainly not the worst I’ve seen. You’ve done well for yourself, considering.” The far edge of the table has no railing, blocked instead by the solid, impassable form of Rafael. The giant has turned away from the contraption, and you step down from it without protest from Beech, warily watching the giant rummage through something below the table. The medic sets down a number of new tools, all of them larger than you and Beech combined. “I’m going to use this to check your heart rate and breathing- it may be a little cold. Lift your shirt up for me please?” 

It is very cold, the large circle of metal burns a strange icy shape into your back. You hold as still as you can as Rafael moves the metal ring to different parts of your torso, avoiding the dark bruises over your ribs. 

“Can you take a deep breath for me?” 

You comply thoughtlessly, staring at Beech’s back. He has turned away, looking out at the cavernous space around them; your boots dangle from his hands, and your jacket is thrown over his arm. 

“And another?”

It pulls at your injured ribs, but you do, with a grunt of pain. Rafael pulls the still-chilled metal away, humming pensively. 

“We’ll need to get an accurate baseline for heart rate another time; for now, I’d like to take a look at your injuries.”

You blink, staring at the giant. How can a being so large check your bruises? Even at his gentlest he could still leave new wounds. Thoughtlessly, you seek Beech’s gaze, round-eyed like a startled child. He nods when he sees your gaze, steps forward and addresses the giant.

“If we’re doin’ the checkup now, it’s gotta be hands-off.” He says firmly, his broad shoulders are straightened, but they look delicate when stood in front of Rafael.

“Not a problem,” The medic acquiesces with a bow of his head. “I’ll just ask a couple of questions then have you do some stretches to test your range of motion.” 

He asks you about your injuries in his would-be-quiet voice, keeping his enormous hands far from you, as promised. You lift your shirt to show him your bruises, you show him your range of motion, ignoring the burn in your shoulder when you move your arms in circles . You can’t touch your chin to your chest, you can’t look down or right or left without a hot flash of agony through your spine. He tells you that you have whiplash and shines a bright white light in your eyes. All you can do is sleep it off and press something cold on it, apparently. Some doctor. 

“Almost done,” He drags his fingertip over the table, drawing a 20 foot line. “Would you-“ 

Rafael’s face turns away, he turns to look at the white wall shifting to open like a curtain, letting in daylight. His hands pull back from the table, his attention has diverted to the other giant poking their head inside. Beech has turned to look out into the sudden daylight. 

“Dahlia!” Rafael’s clipped bark collapses the frail bubble of calm you had managed to wrap around yourself, and you seize what may be your final opportunity. Beech’s fingers graze against yours, but you are already gone, lighter and faster than him. You head in the direction of the light, where the wall-curtain had opened. Your aches are gone, your head is clear in a burning wash of desperation. No one has shut the curtain, but a towering silhouette is still halfway through, a living monolith that blocks your path; is that how you looked when you caught Stormy chewing through a sack of flour?  Are you brave enough to run past that figure? Are you brave enough to jump? Or just enough to die like a puff of smoke in someone’s hands?