Among the blades of grass and fallen leaves moves a great procession of humans. Young men and women all, they number more than three thousand, but that is a mere fraction of what they'd been when they set out of their overcrowded nest to make a new home for themselves. With each passing day their group had split off into many more, each going off in a different direction, improving the odds that at least some of them might survive to start a new nest. Perhaps some of those other groups have already succeeded. Perhaps they have already perished. It is impossible to know, and besides, these humans have no time to worry about anyone but themselves; they sense rains coming tonight if not sooner, and if they can't find shelter by then, most if not all of them will drown for sure.
All together they march towards a great tree in the hopes that it might grant them the shelter they need. They move quickly, as their elders advised on the day of departure, but as soon as they hear something moving through the forest, they scurry under a brown leaf to hide until they know what they're dealing with.
Soon they catch a glimpse of the culprit; a creature much like themselves, but unimaginably bigger, whose sheer size astounds more than terrifies the humans. They have all heard about elves before, but this is their first time seeing one, and their grandparents' tales don't do the real thing justice.
The humans don't move as the elf comes closer. They know there is no point in running from a being so big she could end them all in a single step—better to stay still and avoid drawing attention. Instead they follow their elders' advice and lie flat on the ground so that if stepped on they might survive in some tiny gap under the elf's foot.
While they watch with bated breath, the elf stops and sits down with her back to the tree they had been headed for. She reaches down and removes her boots and socks. Her bare feet settle on the ground, then she stretches her legs a bit and her feet rush forward, right towards the humans.
They all rise and run away, but already it's too late to make much difference. The elf's toes easily catch up to them even as they start to run, and hundreds meet their end beneath the titan digits before these slide to a halt. The survivors keep running until they're a good distance from the giant foot—six inches from the elf's perspective, a mile from theirs—then reconvene. They have a moment of silence and make a sign of mourning for their lost comrades, each touching a hand to their forehead and then their heart, before discussing what should be done next.
The group is in disagreement. The elf represents a danger, but also an opportunity; the stories say elven homes are something of a paradise, with abundant food and shelter. A nest could survive for many generations there, and its people spread to occupy neighboring homes. But to get this promised land, they would have to hitch a ride with this elf.
It was a tantalizing possibility, but a risky one. And though the life of a human was already full of risks, but many of them would rather stick with the dangers they knew than brave the unknown without even knowing for sure that a reward awaited at the end of it. In the end, less than half of the humans choose to take their chances with the elf. They bid good-bye to their companions and set off for the giant foot, eager to reach it before it leaves without them.
The humans hike up the dirt bunched up around her toes, then climb up her big toe, aided by the sticky moistness of her skin. The elf remains blessedly still while they climb and soon they pull themselves up into the space under her toenail. The little nook is big enough to hold them all at once, and while they wait for the elf to leave, they half-bury themselves in the dirt under her toenail to help secure them.
Once they're safely in place, it doesn't take long for the elf to stir, stretching out her legs all the way. Her heel tears through the earth where the other humans are gathered, and in an instant they're all obliterated. Then, yawning, she moves her feet closer and wipes the dirt off her soles before pulling on her socks and boots.
Despite their choice, the humans are uneasy as they're thrust into the sheer darkness of the cavernous boot. Still, they know they're in too deep to back out; all they can do do is try and make sure that at least some of them live to see their destination.
The elf finally stands, and the pressure on her feet pushes the flesh of her toes against her toenails. The pressure kills the humans furthest back on the spot; others are mangled,and still others packed firmly into the dirt that they're immobilized by it. The survivors hear the screams of their companions, but these are silenced when the elf takes her first step with that foot, the sheer speed of it tearing the breath from their lungs.
Amidst the cataclysmic rise and fall of the elf's foot, it's all the humans can do to try and hold on for dear life, clinging to anything they can hold on to, even to each other. Even so, those furthest ahead are knocked loose one by one and flung out of their hiding place. Some are caught by the strands of the elf's sock and hold on fiercely to its fibers, while others are launched through the minute gaps between those threads and into the chaotic void between the sock and boot.
The boot grows hotter over time, and from the elf's foot seep ever greater amounts of sweat. The sweat moistens every nook and cranny of the elf's foot as well as her sock, even under her toenail, wetting the dirt beneath it so that it holds the humans more firmly.
Increasingly the sweat fills even the air, which turns so damp the humans feel like they're drowning. Before long it becomes more than just a feeling as more sweat seeps into their hiding place, blanketing huge numbers of them. Those so caught try to dig their way out of the dirt, but in its packed and wettened state, the dirt-turned-toejam is inescapable.
Even in the absolute darkness, the humans still know their numbers are dwindling as with each passing minute the screams they hear grow fewer and fainter. How long had it been and how much longer would this go on? Surely it wouldn't be that much longer; such a colossal being must be able to get anywhere in no time at all. Any moment now they will be out of this hell and in that paradise spoken of in the stories.
So they tell themselves, yet it still takes half an hour before the elf arrives home and, going into her bedroom, removes her boots and peels off her sweaty socks, letting these fall to the floor and sighing as the air hits her bare feet. Splaying her toes, she notices some dirt caught under her toenail and digs it out, then idly considers it while rolling it between her fingers. At last she flicks it away, and the few humans who had survived beneath her toenail slowly suffocate to death in the tomb of sweat-soaked dirt to which the elf has doomed them.
Yet that is not the end of the humans. Some still survive on the damp threads of her sock, and once these dry enough to let them move, they crawl through the tangle of threads, helping out those others they meet on the way, and at last come out to stand on the floor of the elf's bedroom, gaping at their surroundings. It's not quite the paradise the stories mentioned, but from what they can see, it will do nicely. And once all eighty-some survivors have gathered together, they set out to make their nest in this grand building that will be their home and the home of their descendants for generations to come.