I shut my eyes and the whole world fades from existence. My lids flick open once more and the earth is born again. Sometimes I feel like I’ve made it all up, that this is just some feverish dream and that I still rot in the shade of my old hovel in the old world. I keep hearing the others say that this new home of ours is ripe with...oh what’s the word they’ve been using? Opportunity? I don’t think I’ve ever really known what that word meant, and by now its seems foolish to ask. This is just the way it's been these last few days; blinking through the dust, killing and resurrecting all of creation in a few dark passing moments. I forget myself and crash through another feeble thing below me.

“Keirsien, what’s wrong?” Lark calls to me. Again my eyes drift open, meeting the harsh yellow haze of the afternoon sun with some severity. She stands a ways off, her right foot resting on a shallow pile of debris that must have once been a construct of those little people.

“Nothing, I just...got distracted.” I reply in a hushed, cautious tone. Lark stares back with some measure of skepticism. She’s been on my case quite a bit lately. I couldn’t tell you why, it's just sort of been that way for the last few days. When I try to sleep in the colder hours of the night I am often haunted by corrupting premonitions. I’m starting to fear that she’s seen a transformation in me that I myself have not yet recognized. As if there were a darkening halo slowly closing in around my head that only she has glimpsed in the corner of her eye.

I adjust my schiff, and continue on after her. The tattered cloth has already torn at the mid thigh, leaving my flesh bared further for the approaching winter to scar. That’s one of many things I do miss: ample clothing. Everything else here is too small to work with, too fragile, too rare. The small folk have some supplies that can be pilfered but the incredible difference in our proportions have left us relatively ill-equipped. When I  arrived here those who had come during the first wave had spun tales of plentiful stockpiles, rich with food and luxury. They made it sound as though their time here had been spent reaping pleasures from the lesser race. Perhaps it was at that time, but now we scrounge around looking for supplies, shelter, and above all else, food.

Lark gestures for me to approach, as she points to a hovel in the ground. As I draw closer I can see what appears to be the remains of a town that seems to have already been trampled by others. Normally in situations like this there is little to be salvaged. My people may be untrustworthy and selfish, but they were thorough in whatever actions they undertook.

“Keirs, look what I found!” she cheered with a unusual enthusiasm. We have been barely getting by last few weeks so morale has been considerably low. I step over a pile of metal shells, clearly the remains of those strange little self-moving machines the lesser ones use for travel. As I get closer I see Lark has a wicked little grin on her face. In fact, aside from the ragged tunic hanging loosely from her shoulders and her sheath of tangled auburn hair, she was positively glowing with pride.

“What is it Lark, food?” I wearily respond. My voice has long been exhausted by the arid state of my throat.

“Better, see for yourself”

I pause a second to peer into her greyish-azure eyes to see if she’s truly gone mad. Hmm, no, that’s her usual hungry stare. She bites her lip and nods once more to the filthy ground. As my gaze drifts down I see her foot has pinned back a particularly long, almost prismic metal shell just above a hollow trench. The copse of tangled debris spreads far beneath the shadow of the remaining ruins, just begging to be rebuilt or annihilated completely. At first my eyes are lost amidst the wreck, then I finally see them. Huddle within the black mud is a crowd of the lesser people. In so dense a mob I cannot precisely determine their state or number, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter. The searing ache in my sleep-deprived eyes subsides for a moment as I stare into the petrified mass. For a moment I think I can hear them speak but I soon realize it is just the anxious wind flowing through the nearby hollow.

“Well?”

“Well what?” I respond almost mechanically. I cannot seem to look away from the huddle of trembling figures. Already I can feel Lark’s eyes piercing through my skin with a glare of disbelief. Clearly she expected me to equally thrilled but I’m...I’m not. I don’t know.

“What’s that supposed to mean? This is great!”

“I guess, I was hoping for something...more”

“More” she growls back at me. “We haven’t stumbled across any of these little things in a long time. I thought most of them were gone!”

“True but, they won’t last us long, there are hardly enough to satisfy even one of us”

Neither Lark nor our new prey seemed even remotely pleased by my remark. As I spoke I heard some muffled cries from the assembly below. I finally chanced to return Lark’s uncertain expression but she simply scoffed at me.

“You want to eat them? Why would we do that? We could have so much more fun...finally put a little more excitement into day to day slog.”

I bite my lip to keep myself from saying something I’ll regret. For some reason she seems genuinely appalled by my disinterest. I’ve never been one to play with my food, and I get it, some like to torment the little buggers; it makes them feel powerful, important, you know how it is. As for me, I’ve never really taken much interest in their suffering. I never felt the need to remind myself how easily they can be bullied or destroyed.  Hell, I wasn’t even that into eating them until most of our supplies disappeared. I suppose if we were to split them I couldn’t tell her what to do with her share, but it seemed negligent to let her just waste potential nutrients on her fucked up little games.

“Lark, we are STARVING!” I enunciate with a surprising degree of intensity, “we have barely enough to get us through the next week let alone the entire winter. These things will keep so long as we keep them alive.”

With a roll of her eyes she steps aside, flinging the metal husk away with her foot before finally taking a knee by the trench. The little things shriek once more. Just as Lark leans closer, the mob begins to fan out. Its subtle at first. One or two break from the huddle and try to disappear in the labyrinth of refuse. Soon the whole crowd is breaking into desperate shuffle. For a second I feel something akin to sympathy, but it's probably just the pain of hunger.

“Well you can do whatever the hell you want with your half, and I’ll do what I want with my own share. How’s that?” she mutters with a subtle hint of spite.

I hate her. I really do. I have for a while but that’s just in my nature I suppose. Rather, its in OUR nature. My kind is not known for its warmth, trust, or sense of respect.  I know she hates me too. The real question is, why have we remained together for so long then? Troops were far more common in the early days simply for the sake of efficiency but now...it was like she was prying food from my mouth.

Her hands swept down into the hole with a chorus of horrified moans as accompaniment. I had to avert my gaze for a second. I couldn’t bear to look at her at that moment. I want nothing more than to shove her face into the ground till she chokes to death on the sticky clay. A few seconds go by, and I see her stand back up in the corner of my eye.

“Hmph, best hurry now, it seems your precious little rations are getting away.” Lark cooes cynically. My head snaps around in time to catch the remaining hoard of little folk scattering into the shattered ruins. I quickly fall to my knees and do what I can to collect what few remain in reach. My palms sweep out, my fingers curl, and my breath rushes with mounting desperation. They are so small and quick. Too often my attention passes over them as they flee into arms of the stony hell. Their diminutive forms are too minute to focus on for more than a few seconds. Many seem to blur in and out of focus as they twist and stumble past one another. The sickness of fatigue certainly impairs me as I go about trying to corral them. At one point I stop a crowd with my palm and manage to force them onto my other hand. A dozen more go in one direction, but they are spread too thin. Damn, only a couple remain. Then there’s another one but I...shit, I was too reckless, now he’s just a puddle.

Its take me some time and an uncomfortable amount of effort but I manage to gather a decent portion of them up into my hands. As I begin to lift them up some foolish few decide to hurl themselves over the edge. I used to think only fire could make someone leap to their deaths like that, but who knows...maybe I am also a type of fire. No, I wasn’t cruel, was I? I could sense my eyes glazing over as I brought the assembly to chest-level. The thought that I could be as base and superficial as Lark made the corners of my eyes twitch. My fresh captives calmed a bit as they noted my apparent transfixion.

Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t make people suffer. I chew, I swallow, that’s it. I mean, they don’t know that but still.

“Keirsien?” a voice calls.

“Keirs-” this time its interrupted by a sort of light toned melody somewhere in the distance. For a moment it's all I can focus on, all that I care about. I push against the weight of dust clinging to my skin and for a moment the world beyond this meager existence cuts through, blinding me with an unusual white glow.In my mind I reach out to take it and grasp nothing but air.

“KEIRSIEN? What is wrong with you?” Lark’s voice echoes once more. I return to reality and find myself staring down into the depression between my hands. At least, twenty of the little people stare back up at me with every manner of expression. While I stand ossified I can hear Lark smirk with uncourteous intent.

“Struck by them eh? Too beautiful for you? Or are they just soooo appetizing?”

A few sparse screams emanate from my palms as I return Lark’s sarcastic glare. I lower my eyes for a moment and think unhappy thoughts while she simply returns to her own victims.

That seems like such a harsh word, “victims”. They are so unconventionally weak and unproductive that calling them victims seems inaccurate. Their whole existence is so fragile and irresolute, it's just their nature. I don’t know what I’m talking about, I rarely do. The hunger is really starting to get to me.

My palms start to narrow as I consider where to store my new prizes. I would like nothing more than to get it all over with now, but I know I must be cautious. Fresh meat is so scarce it would be wise to make them last. The pouch hanging from my waist will do just fine for now. With a little careful maneuvering, I manage to lift its adjoining flap with my forearm. Once in position, I lower my hands down into the darker clutter below where, with a slight inclination, I manage to slide most off into the cloth purse. I withdraw with just a few remaining, just to sate me for the time being.

I pull back my right hand and draw four of my captives up to my face. It has become customary for me to inspect live food before...partaking. Too many times have I taken on rotting, sickly individuals that left me gagging. I peer at the unlucky few and note their bony limbs. Even at so minuscule a size I can tell that they too are malnourished. Such is the world I suppose. Three cower. The fourth stands up with his hands outstretched. He too is scared but seems as if he willing to make some kind of compromise. I pause for a moment, letting my jaw go slack as I search for the right words...no the right thought, to complement this strange series of circumstances.

“Wait” the upright figure calls out. My muscles tighten as I drink in that tiny, pathetic little voice. I think he started to say something else but I shut it out of my mind. Something purely animalistic seizes control of me and the urges resurface. I open my mouth just enough and begin to move my hand closer. I start slow, but as their horrified screams hit my ears I built up speed. My head tilts back, and two fly into my gullet immediately. Another is pinned beneath my lip, I can feel it wriggling about like a wounded animal. I adjust and pull it loose with my tongue. The three thrash about in the corners of my mouth and I cannot stomach the thought of keeping them there any longer. I swallow immediately, somehow panicked by the absence of my final morsel. I look down at my hand while the trio is well on its way to my stomach. The fourth is missing. For some reason my panic grows. I have to find it. I can’t let one get away, too much has gone wrong already. I don’t give the rest of my prey much thought as I fall to my knees. Surely the fourth is on the ground somewhere. I search and search and search. Mounds of cement and cracked class are overturned as I claw through the town’s carcass. Somewhere in what remains of my rational mind I know that even if I do find the little thing’s corpse it will surely be spoiled. A drop from that height would have practically vaporized him.

“Lose one already?”

My joints lock as I translate Lark’s snide question. The search is delayed as I tentatively lift my head. For some reason I stop just as my eyes meet Lark’s scuffed knees. An unnatural affinity for abusive language starts to boil in my very core. She can tell I’m getting angry but she doesn’t care.

“Pity…try not to lose the others won’t you?”

Blood rushes to my face as an emulsion of anger and shame flood my thoughts. Lark has been particularly malicious today. Perhaps our desolate state has finally been getting to her, or perhaps her repression of those facts is driving her mad. Whatever the case may be, I have grown quite tired of her constant rudeness. I search for the right words to hurl back at her, but some mental insecurity blocks my speech. Rage mounts, I can feel myself begin to shake.

“Lark!” I manage to growl. Finally I raise my head to look at her. She stares back with no perceptible hint of emotion. Then her expression melts back to a mien of confusion, as though she does not understand what has brought on my ire. We glare at one another for a few more moments before I realize I have nothing else to say. At last she simply turns away toward the drifting sunset. I try to follow her movements but I am immediately blinded as the fiery orange light glides past her silhouette. My anger subsides, for the moment.

As I stand I lift the flap on my satchel to inspect my captives. Most are hidden away, but my brain is too muddled to warrant the necessity of a thorough search. I lazily let the flap fall back into place and follow Lark just the same. Neither of us exchange a word as we trail on. Normally we would have stayed near the city’s ruins for the sake of...geography. I know that doesn’t make sense but…

Ah, night sets in much faster than I anticipated. Already the absence of the sun is felt against my skin, beneath my ragged clothes, and through the tresses of my hair. In a futile attempt to conserve my body heat I try wrapping my arms beneath a length of my schiff. It doesn’t seem to help much and I soon begin to shiver. Every night has been like this. The days in this dry steppe have been plagued by blistering sun, while the nights freeze us to our very cores. The ground is hard and dusty. Most of our water comes from whatever settlements we can find.

How long have we walked? The shadow of night has surrounded us for some time now. My feet ache and my stomach growls. Should I say something to Lark? Beg her to stop? Perhaps she is simply waiting for me to say something? Another minute passes as I carefully observe her unsteady gait. Her sandals have worn rough callouses on her heels, but they do not yet bleed. Each step becomes more haphazard as she stumbles over the uneven hills. As another gust of wintry breeze slams against our left flank I notice that her knees begin to wobble. She grows more weak. This might be a good time to-

“Keirs”

I pause. At first I don’t recognize her voice as it is far too soft and dreary. My silence does not go unnoticed as, after another few seconds, Lark finally ceases her stunted advance. Immediately I halt, waiting for her to continue on.

“I’m tired, I don’t think there’s anything else out here for some time…”

I say nothing and nod. Am I still angry? I can’t tell. To be honest I don’t feel anything right now aside from cold, hunger, and fatigue.

“I can make us a fire...maybe”

“We have no wood Lark…”

She says nothing. Instead she simply slumps onto the ground. At first her upright position appears like a delirious mirage; a fallen tree swaying a bit in the wind. I take a knee, carefully removing my satchel and setting it on the numbed earth so as not to harm my prey. Lark turns about to face me and I see her face sag with a desolate expression. The bitch isn’t nearly as chipper now. A moment ago I couldn’t help feel a slight sense of satisfaction as I watched her malnourished shuffling, but now I feel...I feel...bad I guess. I don't know.

“Where are your humans Lark?” I ask poignantly. Her eyes narrow as she regards me with suspicion.

“Why? Plan on stealing them while I sleep?”

“No, that’s not what I meant, I was just…”

“They’re safe. Stowed away elsewhere. It’s none of your business…”

There it is. Lark’s spite has returned. I’m still not sure what’s gotten into her today, but then again none of us have been in our right minds lately. I try my best to ignore her comment so that I may go about preparing my bedding.

Like every evening I open my satchel and go through the usual ritual. First a swig of water to wash away the layer of dust coating the inside of my throat. As I continue to lift the skin I realize too late that I have finished it all off. Pity. I’ll have to find more soon. Next is food. Most of the little people have huddled together in the pouch’s corner exchanging hushed sobs in a web of trembling limbs. No more of them tonight. Instead I retrieve another wafer I brought from home. I am surprised they have managed to last me so long. In a matter of seconds it's gone. As I chew, the dry, starchy substances crumbles into a bland paste. Normally these things disgust me, but lately they have tasted like paradise. Once the last bits are swallowed and gone, I notice Lark stealing a glance at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are greedy and full of want.

“Problem?” I ask.

“No.”

“Are you out?”

“No.”

“Alright well...I’m going to sleep then.”

Still nothing from her. Eventually, as I begin to unravel my bedroll I hear something feint. My hands glide out over the thin cloth pocket as I smooth it into a wide flat sheet. Then I hear it again. Its Lark. Is she...talking? Not to me but...to herself? Herself?. When I look over I see that her back is turned toward me whilst she lay on her side. Weird.

Again I try not to bother myself with her. My eyelids grow heavy and my limbs have already begun to give out on me. Once I am finished tying up the flap of my satchel I slide between the sheets of my bedroll and instantaneously collapse into unconsciousness.

Cold. Moonlight like snow. Cloth softer than clay or freshwater. Cold. I shiver. My spine twists to escape some sensory aggravation. Cold. Something...something moving. Me? No, it can’t be me...I’m me. Something else. Something twitching. Something small. Cold. Moonlight turns into a blinding lamp. Cloth grows itchy. Moving, crawling, squirming. What is it? Then suddenly I’m awake again. My whole body shivers from the dark night’s horrible icy breath. At first I think hypothermia has finally found its way into my core but such thoughts are soon displaced. I glimpse over and see Lark’s dark outline set against the violet night sky. Her breathing is steady and precise. But no, why did I wake...something’s...something’s moving. Something is squirming up against me. A strange tingling sensation drifts across my chest. I don’t know why but panic overtakes me. Whilst remaining as still as physically possible I slowly lift my meager blanket. A wave of cold air rushes in to replace what little warmth remains around me. The light is dim but I can still sense the presence of some small thing.

Tentatively I move my hand down. I start at my throat then I nervously slide it down toward my breast. The moving stops, but I can still feel the thing against me. A small, wearisome eternity drifts by but I finally manage to find the source. The tip of my middle finger brushes over something minuscule and alien. My knuckles lock and my heart begins to beat faster. I know immediately what it is.

With a few uncoordinated pinching motions I manage to seize the thing between a few fingers before finally withdrawing it from the darkness. As the pale moonlight strikes it I find myself slapped with temporary relief.

There, gripped firmly between my fingers is one of the little people. I narrow my eyes till they focus on his shaking little torso, which twists and tugs against my grip in futility. I recognize him. He’s the one who tried to speak with me before...the one I thought I’d lost. Everything disappears for a moment as I try to think how best to deal with him. I’m lost again. I try to blink the blurriness from my eyes but instead I’m thrust back into the rapid cycle of death and rebirth. Then, against the swirl and howl of the awful autumn wind I hear:

How strange it is now to think back to my younger years. Back when all I did was roam from settlement to settlement, watching strangers bicker and fight. My kind has always been contemptuous. I always assumed it was because they were mad at the world for our meager existence. In those days I met a lot of people who possessed a “I didn’t ask to be born” type of mentality. Even now, whilst we roam a smaller world filled with puny creatures we are still reminded of our shortcomings. Some, like Lark, ignore their own wretchedness while others are too stupid to recognize their mortality. Now that we’ve trampled an entire race into the dirt they think they’ve become something different. If anything we are more destitute here than we had ever been back home. I’m reminded of such things as I stare at this little bug I’ve caught trespassing on my person. Every one of my senses is still cluttered with drifting fatigue but I somehow manage not to crush him.

            “Can I just...just talk to you for a second? Like before...before…” I cringe at his feeble, shaky voice. His words are precise but saturated with worry. I can’t make out his expression, as his tiny face is obscured by a smothering shadow. Nevertheless, I know what aspect he has adopted. Just as his limbs fight against the tips of my fingers, so too must his face be warped into a grimace of pain and panic. There’s a sudden impulse to squeeze the life out of him. All it would take is a little more pressure and…

            “I can explain, why I was…down there” His squirming ceases and for a moment I think I’ve somehow killed him. Then he cries out again, his voice creaking between every other syllable.  “Can you understand me?”

                 I’m not sure what’s come over me but I...I nod in response. Is this curiosity? I’ve never really considered myself to be curious. Then again nothing about this situation is what I would call “ordinary”. Before I can process another twitch or gust of cold air he continues on:

            “Ok, now I know you probably don’t want to listen to me but I have a proposition for you!”

            A what? Prop position? He uses words I do not recognize. I suppose that’s not too unexpected. While most the little people I have encountered speak the same language, their accents and slang have been hard to decipher. Then again I also don’t talk much to my food.

            “So can I...can I speak then?”

                 Dammit what am I doing? I should just put him back in my satchel with the others. The longer I keep him out the more likely I’ll crush him, or drop him again. Still, I can’t seem to move. Have my joints finally frozen over? No, I feel compelled. Compelled to listen to him. I regard him sternly for another few seconds before I finally give my reply.

            “How dare you” I whisper.

            “Look I can explain! It's not my fault!”

                 “You fucking creep, I ought to let you die down there”

            He grows hushed. No doubt he’s trying to collect his courage. He should be fearful. With a slight jerk I bring him closer to my face. Even in the numbing air I can feel my brow drop into an enraged scowl. My breathing becomes rapid and my shivering mixes with my festering frustration.

            “I didn’t mean to end up like that!” he eventually screams. “You dropped me, I fell! I just happened to land down there!”

                 Each of the little thing’s words drift off and dissipate in the nocturnal breeze. Fatigue seizes me once again and my emotions melt away to an unexpected state of calm. For some reason this all came as a relief. A heavy sigh escapes my lungs which agitates my miniature stowaway.

            My emotions shift from that of scattered rage to a strange pitiful sense of gratification. Something about the way he struggles in my grip is just so satisfying. I give him a gentle squeeze which forces the air from his lungs. He begins to gasp and spasm, greedily trying to replace his displaced breath. The corners of my mouth spread into a curious smile as his fit dies down.

            “Well what is it then?” I grunt. I’m much too tired to put up with any of his mischief. I already know what he’ll try to say. ‘Please don’t eat me! I’ve done nothing to you! I don’t even taste good! Blah blah blah blah blah. Why am I even indulging his feeble little attempt to dissuade me? I don’t know, bored I guess. He tries one last time to pull himself free but I refuse to release him. I give him another squeeze just to let him know his life is quite literally in my hands.

            “Well I…” every single one of his words feels forced and uncertain. Hmph, he’ll never convince me this way. “Well first off, sorry to wake you, I just...couldn’t take much more of it down there.”

            What?

            “Second, how...err how are you doing?”

            My face went rigid. A few awkward moments go by as I try to process his intentions. Why should he care what I’m doing? I’m going to EAT him. Is he not aware that I am both hungry and pissed off?

            “What is this?” I finally manage to say. Meanwhile Lark begins to stir nearby. I avert my gaze toward her for a moment, just in time to see her shift uncomfortably in her sleep. A soft, sad murmur escapes her lips before she finally settles down. Once she is still I turn back to the puny little pervert.

            “You uhh...ok? I mean, things seem...you seem a bit stressed. Is uhh...everything good here or?”

            I’m lost for words. What’s he trying to pull? Perhaps he’s just trying to distract me or buy himself more time. More time for what though? He’s definitely not going anywhere. Another panic-inducing thought enters my mind and I immediately sit up. My head snaps around to my satchel which, somewhat unexpectedly, sits still and silent next to me. Hmm, so the others don’t seem to be escaping.

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you...well whatever that just was…”

            “Quiet!” I instinctively quip. I turn back to my satchel and lift it carefully with one hand. Once it rests on my lap I lift the flap and peer inside, all the while the little nuisance of a man waits patiently in my other hand. I can’t see much inside the bag, but detect the subtle flow of movement down within. Relief returned, and I let out another long sigh. At least my other captives were safely trapped. As I return the pouch onto the ground next to me, my intruder audaciously decides to speak up yet again.

            “They haven’t done anything! They’re...they’re doing exactly what you want. I promise”

            As if by reflex I scowl. I know that if he keeps this up my frustration will cause me to crush him by accident. To avoid such a mess I cradle my palm and loosen my fingers so that he tumbles down onto the flesh of my hand. Apparently this causes him much pain as he spends the next few minutes rolling about nursing his leg.

            “A promise from you means nothing little man.”

            He is still reeling from the drop. Though I am angry I can’t seem to direct any of my fury back at him. My emotions have really been hectic lately. The stress of survival has been dizzying. I find myself getting angry at everything and everyone lately. What’s this now? Sympathy? No, just more weariness. I’m tired of being angry all the time. Before I can register another thought my eyes shut and I wait a while for my breathing to return to its calm, steady pattern.

            “Fair enough” a voice says. Its a bit stronger than I remember but as I lift my lids I find that it was indeed my tiny captive. “I get it...you’re hungry...cold. Don’t want to have to deal with us. What if I told you that I could guide you to a place with food, warmth, everything you’d need!”

            Just as before nothing immediately registers in my mind. Then, as the meaning of his words sinks down deeper into the crevices of my brain I too start to tremble. The mere thought of heat and filling food sends a shiver down every limb. I know it’s too good to be true but for once I  immerse myself in the fleeting fantasy.

            “Now I know what you’re probably thinking”

            “Quiet! Do not presume to know anything about me you little bug”

            “Sorry”

            “Listen,” the words leap from my tongue like corrosive acid. “I don’t trust your kind for a second. You lie...you must. I get it, it’s the only thing you can do in situations like this, but there’s no escape from this winter!”

            The volume and force of my voice sends him scuttling back against a wall of fingers. While he is still frightened, I must admit he has shown considerably more courage than most of his kind. The little people are weak-willed, cowardly, and above all else, untrustworthy. Every giant I have met on this shrunken plane has told me the same thing: ‘do not listen to the welps. They will do anything to avoid your wrath.’ In my limited experience I have seen this to be true. Then again I can’t say I blame them. They have little to no chance of fighting us, so they must beg, plead, and trick. They think we are foolish, lumbering bullies that have come here to wreak havoc for pleasure alone. That is not the case. Only now, as I cradle this bold little runt in my hand, do I remember that I came here to start a new life. Only recently have I realized that my arrival on this world was a death sentence for both our races.

            “I- I’m serious” he croaks out between horrified heaves of breath. “I can show you the way, you don’t have to eat us!”

            Aha! There it is. These little people are always playing an angle. He thinks that he can save himself and the others by leading me on some frivolous journey. Surely they are just trying to buy themselves more time to formulate another plan of escape.

            “I want to eat you.” I start. “Why should I believe you. You just want to stay alive.”

            He responds without hesitation. “True, very true. I’m trying to broker a deal here. O-o-ok? Even you can’t stand this cold, am I right?”

            Ugh. How annoying. A little person lecturing me on my weaknesses. I should reduce him to a puddle now. Put an end to his sniveling but...I’m compelled to listen. Desperation is a funny thing when it drives you to reach for false hopes.

            “Go on”

            Even in this dark I can see his tiny face relax. Before he can continue I notice a distinct cramp in my spine. This position is far too straining. I lift my finger to indicate the need for a temporary pause as I adjust my posture. With a bit of effort I slump over onto my stomach, all the while keeping the tiny man aloft in my hand. Finally, once I’ve drawn back beneath the meager cover of my bedroll I lower my hand till it rests directly in front of my face. From here I get a slightly better look at the miniature figure. He appears thin, even a bit short for one of his kind, with a mop of dark hair and a scraggly beard that hides his true age. Nevertheless he seems full of energy.

            As he tries to speak up again I hear his voice with a certain muted apathy. The words escape his mouth amidst anxious quaking. It’s as though he wanted my full attention, but is incapable of coping with it now that he has it. I give my hand slight bob, just to show my dissatisfaction.

            “Alright!” he finally cries with more fervor. Both arms stretch out as he pushes himself against the flesh of my palm. I wait patiently as he makes himself as comfortable as he can. “So, near the coast...it’s warmer there. It hardly ever gets as cold as this” he gestures wildly to his surroundings as I stare blankly back at him. I make no immediate response, which seems to offset him slightly.

            “Ok listen.” he eventually starts up again. “I can show you the way there. There are like… a ton of abandoned towns along the Gulf that no other giants have touched! You can find a lot of food there”

            Still I say nothing. My aspect is frozen in a mask of cold scrutiny. Meanwhile my feet, despite being wrapped in the confines of my bedroll, begin to shake once again. The cold is getting to me. I can’t show it though. I just...can’t.

            “I’m s-s-serious! I should know, I came from one of those towns. No giants have pillaged it yet. There’s bound to be supplies there. You can spend the winter there. No need to deal with all this icy shit!”

            My mouth drops open as though I wish to speak, but I cannot seem to find the proper words. What he tells me is relatively straightforward. There is little to be confused about aside from the specifics regarding the distance and location of these apparently untouched stockpiles. He notes my lingering bewilderment and tries to ease it by ranting on.

            “I know it may sound too good to be true…”

            “It does!” I suddenly burst out. The little man flinches at my outcry but manages to recover quickly. He keeps his arms outstretched as if to provide some semblance of safety.

            “Well...what have you got to lose?”

            I thought about it. Much like before my mind swam amidst a sea of doubt.

            “Aside from precious time and possibly my life?”

            With a short nod he acknowledged my concern but seemed unequipped to respond to it. As he searched for another feasible course of persuasion I began to feel my eyelids droop. Apparently my temporary interest was fading with his argument and sleep seemed ready to envelop me in a matter of seconds. A wave of drowsiness nearly sent me spiraling back into the confines of my dreams but was abruptly awaken by hushed cry from the little human.

            “But you’ll not find anything around here. When was the last time you found a town untouched?”

            He had a point. This area, whatever it was, had already been picked over once or twice by other roaming bands. It was so bad that we hardly ever saw any other giants as most had given up on this particularly desolate region. Gravity tugs on my head aggressively, and the thought of dreams, whether pleasant or nightmarish, seem all the more tempting. I’ll have to think on his claims. I’m not of sound enough mind to make any definite decision.

            “So, let me get this straight…” I begin. “You’re saying that if I decide not to eat you-“

            “Or the others!” he swiftly interjects. Ahh, what insolence! How dare he interrupt my thoughts. The tiny little fuck will need to learn some respect before I even consider listening to his fucking advice. My frustration manifests on my face and he recoils into another timid ball.

            “Do…NOT…interrupt me!” I growl in a half whisper. I’m too tired to expend much energy on outward anger. Normally I’d punish him further but, as I mentioned, I was still mulling over his scheme.

            “S-s-sorry” is his only response.

            “So, as I was saying…” I continue on with increased acerbity. “I don’t eat you. You take me someplace warm, supposedly filled with untouched supplies of food, and then…what? I just let you go out of gratitude?”

            A dreadful realization seemed to work its way into the little man’s head. His beady eyes turn away toward his palms. It would seem there was a flaw in his little plan that he had not yet taken into account. A small smile creeps across my face as I see his meager hope fade back into confused horror.

            “So, what’s to keep me from following your instructions. Finding these so-called ‘stockpiles’ and then eating you and all your little friends anyway?”

            “Well I uhh…I don’t…I just sort of assumed you let us-“

            “Go? Just let you go? I need every scrap of food I can find, I’m not going to just let you go on a whim.” The words shot out of my mouth like a thunderous wind, each more fierce than the last. As I speak, my face drifts closer to my trembling victim. I can feel his tiny, rigid little limbs fan out and grip my skin. A few puffs of reflected breath swim past the little man before wafting back to me. By the time I realize just how close I’ve gotten he’s already back on his feet.

            Quickly, I withdraw a hand’s length away till his nerves return. I let out a slight chuckle and hang my head. My stomach growls, my skin crawls, and another corrupting chill works its way into my flesh. Whilst I stare at the blackness below me I am met by a strange sense of weakness. I can’t quite place its origin.

            “Look, I get it, you want to live. I can’t fault you for that. But so do I, and if I’m going to live I’ll need whatever I can get. Who’s to say I won’t run out of food before we even reach this bountiful place of yours? Hmm? Did you really expect me to just, buy into all this vague shit and then let you run off out of…what, gratitude? Pity?”

            “Well, I don’t know…maybe”

            “Look!” I whisper rather harshly, nearly resting Lark from her slumber. As her distant stolid breaths become calm once again I turn back to the little thing. “Look, I’ll be honest. I’m tired of these weird games ok, I hate my kind and I hate you little things too. I’m just doing what I can to get by at this point. Is that not fair? Is that not allowed? So here’s the thing…” my words trail off absently as I try to adjust my position. The tendons in my shoulder finally shake from the strain of my persisting lean.

            Suddenly I do not want to continue on. I’m stricken by a sick sense of loathing as my own weakness grows more and more self-evident. It takes some effort, but I manage to muster the will to finish my counter-proposal. All the while I cannot bear to look at my rediscovered prey. Something about his own frailty makes my joints ache. Something about his curious mixture of terror and bravery creates an uncomfortable lump in the furthest reaches of my throat. Eventually, I continue on:

            “We both have some things to think about. I’m wandering about with no purpose, no direction. My only goal is survival at this point. If you can lead me somewhere where I can find food, not freeze, live with some faint degree of calm then…fine. If you’re telling me the truth, then I’ll go…BUT…” I pause for emphasis, casting my scrutiny onto the creases of his tiny face. He looks back up at me with some growing interest. His fears seem to have been replaced with burgeoning hope.

            “But…when we get there I will not…most likely…let you go. All you’ll do is buy yourself some more time. Now you…I might not kill you, the rest though…Look you can think about it and let me know tomorrow. Alright? That’s more than fair”

            He says nothing. He sits and stares, no doubt weighing my words with serious consideration. Perhaps I should give him a few minutes to respond. I’ve never really understood these tiny people. They don’t seem to think the same way we do. I can only imagine what strange, foolish little thoughts must be ricocheting around in that tiny skull of his. Hmph, he really seems to be taking his time on this one. I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised, these little…oh what is it they call themselves? Hay-muns? Something like that…

            What’s that? He made some manner of noise. I’m going to assume that was his attempt at an affirmation. I give him another minute to repeat himself. Both eyebrows raise to demonstrate my lack of understanding. Nothing.

            “Alright then, I’ll ask you again tomorrow. For now, I’m tired, I’m sure you’re tired. So…into the sack you go.”

            I lift up my hand for a moment and roll onto my side. Just as the edge of my off-hand barely brushes the frayed canvas strap I hear another desperate cry.

            “Wait!”

            Immediately I stop. The world hangs still for a second. Everything seems to hold its place as I stare out at the tips of my fingers. Is this what happens when I shut my eyes? Is this the dead world I’ve dreamt about, dwelling between each flutter of my eyelids? Then, just as I had always imagined, movement and sensation return. The little creature’s words rang out again to wrestle me from my paralysis.

            “Wait, I wanted to talk more”

            I let my hand drop as I roll back onto my stomach. My attention glides back until it rests back on my new “friend”. Even now I can’t seem to decipher his emotions nor his expression.

            “We have nothing to talk about” I reply coldly.   

            “Well, I just had a few questions. You know, in case we end up…working together”

            My entire body scrunched up at his statement. I was not about to be forced into some meaningless conversation with one of…them. I’ve said everything I needed to say. Our intentions should be clear to one another. I’m trying to survive. He is trying to survive. All any of us are ever trying to do is survive. Unlike Lark, I take no luxury in their suffering.

            “Let me just make one thing clear to you.” I grumble, my voice undulating with uncertain fervor. “We are not working together. I’m just…”

            “Its ok”

            “Shut up!”

            “Sorry I-“

            “Just shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”  Oops, that was louder than expected. Something else stirs near me. Its Lark. Damn it!

            “Whu- what are you-“

            Her voice is weak but thick, not unlike the long night that surrounds us. I have no patience for any of Lark’s venom at the moment, so I must sate her quickly. A dozen lies dash through my head, but I hesitate to pick one. None seem suitable for my seemingly random outbursts. Perhaps simple culling will suffice.

            “It’s nothing Lark. I had another nightmare.”

            A slurry of groggy mumbles follow, until at last Lark’s disjointed droning fades back into the steady sigh of sleep. I take another moment to ensure her relapse into unconsciousness before turning back to the little pest in my hand. As soon as he slides back into my field of view his tiny body seems to recede back into my hand.

            “I just…wanted to know your name.”

            The warping murk of melancholy pierced my chest. Each breath seemed less fulfilling as I considered his request. He doesn’t deserve to know my name. I may be a hopeless wreck but I will never belittle myself in front of lowly a creature like him. My eyes close again and I see not a dead world but barren one, where all greenery has been replaced with mounds of endless dust. My name is one of my last few possessions, and it cracks every time it is uttered. Even when said half-heartedly by Lark it continues to waste into nothingness. I must keep my mouth shut if I’m to keep it from becoming yet another sorrowful memory.

            “I don’t have a name”

            “Sure you do…I heard the other one call you something.”

            “Well its none of your business you little cunt!”

            “Sorry, just thought I’d ask…”

            We returned to stunned silence, clawing at the ever-waning sense of understanding constructed between us. He’s a fool. A stupid, weak, desperate little shit only interested in his own self-preservation. He is the spawn of a fragile earth. He can do nothing for me now. He can never do anything for me. A pointless creature. I hate him. I hate what he wants from me. I’ll destroy him and his kind if it would mean that I could keep my name. There’s nothing left for me. So cold. More wind. My hair lost in the icy air. The whoring rapist that will slowly murder me should I linger in the coming weeks. Broad stretches of snow will bury my decaying exterior.

            “I’m Sharpe by the way”

            Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

            I can feel my face tighten. The next few actions must be quick.

            I seize my bag, nearly tearing it open in the process. After haphazardly opening its flap I practically toss Shar-…the little fuck, into the darkness before securing it again.

            Then, with the agony of names set aside, I lay my head back against the unyielding ground. Clear dreams. That’s all I ask. The sensation of crippling cold returns and I am reduced to nothing. Yet, there is a flame. It exists somewhere near my core. I try to shield it from the winter. I will kindle it with what heat I can drain from my skin. It will go on. It must. My body curls around the fading point, holding the flickering thing in place. Then, just as my mind slips back into sleep, the flame is snuffed out, and only a single string of smoke remains.