There's a crag of rock looming up next to the tree, with just a slight overhang a few yards above.
At this angle it's impossible to see the dark figure flattened to the stone and watching, but a sharp eye -- a very sharp eye, and looking in exactly the right place -- might spot the nearly invisible wraiths of steam rising from the snow.
When giants talk, even quietly, it makes the ground quiver like a plucked string.
A few of those rumbles travel up the tree and shake a thin mist of ice loose, the flakes of it coating his hair. Absently, he dusts them off and tilts his head back to check out the branches.
And then, as he catches sight of what's visible through the branches, his eyes narrow.
Sharp-eyed is kind of the name of his game, most days.
With a crackling roar, the tree between them is abruptly engulfed in flames. Shards of ice fly in all directions like shrapnel, and steam billows outward.
To be fair -- even if he'll deny the fact to his dying breath -- he didn't actually see what was causing the steam.
Which makes the surprise flaming tree...well, pretty surprising.
Another thing he plans to deny to his dying breath, he decides, is the undignified yelping sound he makes as he dives away from the fire and into the snow. Just barely tucking into a roll before he hits the powder, he tumbles through it, jumps to his feet and whirls around.
The guttural growls of the giants rise in volume, and one or two unfold their tree-like legs and lumber to the ready.
"What is this, Lie-Smith?" demands the one who holds the trident.
"What, like I know?" he shoots back, eyes on the tree as he thinks, But I might have an idea.
Comments 53
There's a crag of rock looming up next to the tree, with just a slight overhang a few yards above.
At this angle it's impossible to see the dark figure flattened to the stone and watching, but a sharp eye -- a very sharp eye, and looking in exactly the right place -- might spot the nearly invisible wraiths of steam rising from the snow.
Reply
A few of those rumbles travel up the tree and shake a thin mist of ice loose, the flakes of it coating his hair. Absently, he dusts them off and tilts his head back to check out the branches.
And then, as he catches sight of what's visible through the branches, his eyes narrow.
Sharp-eyed is kind of the name of his game, most days.
Reply
With a crackling roar, the tree between them is abruptly engulfed in flames. Shards of ice fly in all directions like shrapnel, and steam billows outward.
Reply
Which makes the surprise flaming tree...well, pretty surprising.
Another thing he plans to deny to his dying breath, he decides, is the undignified yelping sound he makes as he dives away from the fire and into the snow. Just barely tucking into a roll before he hits the powder, he tumbles through it, jumps to his feet and whirls around.
The guttural growls of the giants rise in volume, and one or two unfold their tree-like legs and lumber to the ready.
"What is this, Lie-Smith?" demands the one who holds the trident.
"What, like I know?" he shoots back, eyes on the tree as he thinks, But I might have an idea.
Reply
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