The Giant in the Hollow
The people of the village had always warned their children about the giant beyond the rocks.
They said he waited in the hollow for anyone foolish enough to wander there alone. Some claimed he carried travellers away in his hands. Others said he could hear a human footstep from the other side of the hill.
No one could remember who had first seen him.
Still, when the boy crossed the dry ground, he carried a branch sharpened against a stone. It was scarcely a spear, but it made him feel less small.
He found the giant crouching beside a shallow pool.
The creature was larger than any living thing the boy had ever seen, yet it did not rise. It pulled a torn cloak over its head and turned its face away.
The boy tightened his grip on the branch.
“Why are you hiding?” he asked.
The giant glanced at the weapon in the boy’s hands.
“My people warned me about yours.”
For a moment, neither moved.
Then the boy looked at the giant’s empty hands. He lowered the branch and placed it carefully on the ground.
Slowly, the giant uncovered his face.
Neither looked as frightening as the story that had arrived before him.
Yet neither moved.
The hollow was small, but the distance left by the story was not.
At last, the boy sat down beside the branch.
After a moment, the giant sat beside the pool.
They remained there without speaking, while the light shifted across the rocks and the oldest warnings between them began, quietly, to lose their shape.
Fear is often the oldest story two strangers share.
