I’ve had it with giants. There was one who lived on St. Michael’s Mount, off Cornwall, who was eighteen feet high and nine feet round. He would come over to the mainland and help himself to people’s farm animals whenever he wished. I set out to destroy him, and I did. I dug a deep pit outside the entrance to his den, blew my horn, and woke him. He came out yelling that he would broil me for breakfast and fell into the pit that I had dug for him. I took my pickax and dealt the final deathblow.
A little while later, I fell asleep in a lonely wood, and a giant named Blunderbore came by, picked me up, and carried me to his enchanted castle. He locked me in a large room where the floor was covered with the skulls and bones of men and women. I had to think fast, because I could hear Blunderbore coming. And he wasn’t alone. He had his brother with him.