In truth Anna had heard her father’s rebuke, but she had chosen to ignore him. She knew perfectly well he didn’t like her stepping over buildings, but going the long way through the muddy pasture just to get to the road was so annoying. She hated the way the cold mud squelched between her toes. It only took a second to step over the barn, and what harm was it doing anyways? As long as she was careful. Anna felt a little guilty disobeying her father, but it really was a silly rule. Sometimes he could be so stubborn. He was just too little to see things her way.
Anna made her way carefully down the road towards Little Standish. Over the years she had developed an instinct for navigating the tiny world at her feet. She had a keen sense of hand-eye coordination and spatial awareness. When Anna was younger it hadn’t always been so easy for her to adjust to how comparatively small and dainty everything in the world was in comparison to her. She took slow, long steps, choosing where to place her feet with great care, making sure the way was clear before putting down her full weight. She kept her dress and apron hitched up to just above the ankles so the great drapery of fabric would not swish around and disturb the air below her as she walked. Although there was nothing she could do to stop the ground from shaking beneath her footsteps, she did her best to tread as lightly as possible.
Scanning ahead, Anna saw a horse and carriage making its way down the road in the opposite direction. He looked about half a mile away - a distance Anna could easily cover in four steps. From her vantage high in the sky the carriage was a brown dot. She could barely make out the movement of the horse’s legs and the spinning carriage wheels as faint blurs. To her, it seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace. Anna stopped two steps away from the carriage and shuffled to the side of the road to let it pass. She made sure her skirt was out of the way. Any movement of the fabric would make the already stressful experience of being near her even worse for the horse. Most of the farm animals around Little Standish were used to seeing Anna out and about, but horses belonging to outsiders had a tendency to bolt when confronted with the sudden earthquakes, buffeting winds, and vast shadows which were an inescapable consequence of her presence. The last thing Anna wanted was an angry merchant knocking on her father’s door demanding he pay for a lost animal.
Anna watched the tiny carriage scurry past her toes. Each of her feet was as wide as the combined length of horse and carriage. She thought she saw the black speck in the driver’s seat wave up at her, but he was too small to tell for sure. She smiled down politely just in case.
“Good morrow!” she called down in a cheery voice. She heard no response - but it didn’t hurt to be friendly.
The carriage was heading south, towards New Pillsbourghy. Anna watched it go for a while, then continued on her way. The village of Little Standish was located on the far end of Webhannet Bay, making it one of the northernmost colonies in Plymouth. As such visits from outsiders were rare; mostly traveling merchants, tinkers, and fur traders stopping on their way to Canada and Maine. Originally built as a shipping town for merchant vessels, it had been slowly abandoned as a center of trade over the years in favor of more hospitable settlements to the south. These days the only tall-masted ships making stops in Little Standish were French trading vessels from Quebec. One was arriving today: the Sainte Maron. Anna was excited to see the ship - for several reasons.
Little Standish was a small New England settlement of about thirty homesteads. Besides the dock, there was a stone church, a public green, and an inn. A low stone wall ran along the perimeter of the town, about waist high on a man. Anna wouldn’t have been able to make out the wall against the ground unless she had gotten on all fours and taken a closer look, but she had made this journey so many times in the past that stepping over the tiny structure was second nature to her. Main street, which ran straight through town, was just wide enough for her to walk fairly comfortably down with room for pedestrians on either side, provided she kept her steps somewhat single-file. It was nearly noon, and the town was busy. The ground around her feet was bustling with tiny villagers. She kept her dress hitched up to avoid whipping up winds. Most of them ignored her, others stopped what they were doing until the tremors of her footsteps subsided (you could always tell an out-of-towner by the way they stood and gawked in awe). A band of small children and dogs trailed her footsteps as she made her lumbering way. Some of the braver boys hurled pebbles at her exposed heels, but their missiles were much too tiny for her to feel.
The people of Little Standish were used to having Anna around. Despite the minor disturbances caused by her brobdingnagian presence, she was a kind, sweet, helpful girl, popular and well-liked. As she made her way down the street several people called up to her in greeting. Anna did her best to pick them out from the crowds to return the salutation with a sweet smile and nod.
Looking towards the sea, Anna spotted the Sainte Maron’s distinctive blue flag waving atop its main mast. The Summer Breeze, an ancient tugboat which ferried people and goods up and down the Webhannet, was docked beside the Maron, looking rather dingy in comparison. Summer Breeze was a sturdy old tug, but the Sainte Maron was a true French three-masted galleon, one hundred and fifty feet from rudder to keel with magnificent cream-colored sails. To Anna however, both ships looked like children’s toys. She could easily have bent down and and plucked the Summer Breeze out of the water like a paper boat.
The shipyard was crowded with sailors and merchants. As Anna approached they scuttled away from her gigantic feet, giving her a wide berth as she made her way towards the center of the plaza. She carefully found room to plant tremendous feet. Standing tall, she towered over everything. Anna inhaled deeply, enjoying the salty sea air. She looked down and scanned the ground. Her feet were obstructed from view by the vast expanse of her bosom, which cast a rather absurd-looking (she thought) shadow over the ground in front of her. She leaned forward a little and peered over them. A flock of squawking seagulls swooped by her waist. Some of them alighted for a moment on the cliff-like folds of fabric created by the monumental curvature of her hips and bust. She gently shooed them away with a casual motion of her colossal hand.
Anna carefully stooped down to examine the Sainte Maron up close. Her heavy breasts wobbled freely as she bent down. She felt them jostling for position under the fabric of her dress, wobbling pendulously to and fro as gravity pulled down on their mighty bulk. She used her free hand to steady them.
Sainte Maron’s waist and quarter deck were crawling with tiny sailors. She could tell the Frenchmen apart by their navy blue uniforms. She watched the tiny men prepare the ship for unloading. Some of them were shirtless. Anna studied their tiny, muscular, bodies intently. She felt her nipples stiffening a little beneath the rough fabric of her dress. A handful of sailors had climbed up the foremast and were working to untie the main sail. She heard their faint cheers at the sight of her and waved politely down at them, blushing.
“Anna! Anna!”
A faint, tinny, voice reached her ears. She looked down at her feet. A tiny man dressed all in black stood just in front of her toes, his voice amplified by the tiny copper cone he held to his lips. It was Isaac Dennet, the dockmaster. Anna reached down and held out her right hand just parallel to the ground. The tiny man clambered up and crawled to the center of her palm. She could barely feel the weight of his tiny, warm, body against her soft skin. Anna curled her fingers around her diminutive cargo and lifted him slowly up to her face. She cupped her left hand beneath her right to steady it and smiled down at the tiny man in her palm.
“Good day Master Dennet, I’m sorry I’m late.”