Ash was running through the forest as darkness gathered. The howl of wolves came from all around and he could see their white and grey bodies flashing past the trees. He was breathing heavily and his boots kept slipping in the wet leaves littering the forest floor.

He ran into a clearing and everything was quiet except for his laboured breathing. A leather bag lay on a stone table in the centre of the clearing. He approached, step by step, and placed his hands on the mossy table. The bag was open but he could only see darkness within. He didn’t want to reach inside because he was sure there was something in there waiting to scratch or bite him. But he needed to reach inside, into the darkness within the bag. He did so, slowly, and pulled out a stone. The word starvation was inscribed into the stone. He drew another stone from the bag. It read injury. And another. This stone felt heavier than the others and he knew which word was inscribed onto its surface before he had even seen it. Death.

Ash woke with that word etched into his mind like it had been on the stone.

He was aching and cold from sleeping on the ground, having decided to catch a quick nap under a tree rather than returning to the village for lunch with the rest of the workers. After a long morning of chopping down trees, he had just wanted to lie down and close his eyes.

He looked up at an overcast sky with a thick blanket of cloud that promised snow—a thought that made him shudder.

Ash stood, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together in an effort to get warm. He stood ten feet tall and had a mouthful of teeth capable of crunching through bone. He had the strength in his arms to tear a cottage door clean off and a pair of legs as thick as tree trunks, which could upend a wagon with a single kick.

But Ash wasn’t the biggest giant living in the village of Haven-Home. He couldn’t swing an axe the hardest or throw a spear the furthest. His hunting skills were ordinary and he swam like a stone.

Ash was about to chop down the tree he had been sleeping beneath when he saw a lizard high up on the trunk, beyond his reach. With a stick, he gently prodded the small animal. It scurried down the trunk and raced away into the forest.

He picked up his axe, took a deep breath and swung it at the tree, the blade biting into the trunk. A painful vibration shot up into his arm and shoulder. He removed the axe and swung again. And again.