The giant walked slowly, fingers half-clenched at his sides, arms swaying, and head always, always, always, always pointed at the ground.
There was a lot down there, and it confused him. And being confused made him nervous. And being nervous made him frightened. And being frightened was the worst thing in the universe.
So he kept an eye on it, just in case.
Woosh and up came his foot, seven leagues in one long clumsy swing, woosh and THUMP and down again, carefully placed.
Not sure what that thing to the left was, best avoid it. Not sure what that thing to the right could be, better steer clear here. What’s up ahead? Might want to take this step short.
Gullies. Quarries. Creeks. Peaks. So many things, so many little things that could creep up and stab a sole or twist an ankle.
Eyes on the ground. Always, always, always on the ground.
But they were very very big eyes and the ground was so very very little, so now and then something would happen and go crunch and the giant would have to stop for a while until his nerves forgave him and his toes stopped hurting.
***
Now and then was today.
It hadn’t gone crunch though. More of a squish.
The giant lifted up his foot, fearing to see the red sticky smear that usually meant a very bad day indeed, but found only damp earth and mangled furniture.
“Hello,” said his big toe.
“Hello, toe,” said the giant to his big toe. “Why are you talking to me now?”
“Up here,” said his big toe.
The giant looked up there. There was someone on his big toe. That explained things completely. “Hello, not my toe,” said the giant. “What are you doing there?”
“A toe came through my house,” explained the someone on his big toe. “I ended up on top of it, so no harm done.”
“Oh thank goodness,” said the giant. “I was worried I stepped on someone again.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“Twice. But it’d happen more if I didn’t look out for it.”
“You keep an eye out, huh?”
“All the time. There’s so much down there, and it’s all so small, and confusing, which makes me nervous, which makes me frightened, which is the worst thing in the universe. So I have to watch my feet.”
“All the time?”
“All the time.”
“Watching my feet would get awfully tiresome after a few days,” mused the someone on the giant’s big toe. “Don’t you get sick of it?”
“If I did, the worst thing in the universe would happen,” said the giant. “So I can’t.”
“Huh. Bit of a pity, that is. I bet you have a great view from up there.”
“No, I have to squint a lot.”
“Not a great view of the ground. A great view of the horizon.”
The giant scratched his head and dandruff fell like rain. “The horizon?”
“Over there. And there. And there. And there. And there.”
“That’s a lot of horizon,” said the giant uneasily. “How come I’ve never heard of it?”
“You’ve never looked for it. It’s all around you. Go on, take a peek.”
The giant pursed his lips. “Promise to tell me if something gets under my feet?”
“Sure. Go on, try it.”
So the giant raised his head for the first time in as long as he could remember and tried it.
***
It made him dizzy.
“Woah,” said the giant. And even that sounded weird, with his neck all straightened out and his throat unclenched. “Woah. Woah woah woah.”
“ ,” said the someone on the giant’s big toe.
The giant leaned back down again.
“How was it?” they repeated.
“Big,” said the giant. “Really, really big. I think it might be bigger than me.”
“Was it okay?”
The giant thought about it. “It was alright. Nice to see something new. But I’m a little nervous I could step on something while I’m looking at it. Or something might creep underneath my feet and get squashed. Or-”
“Tell you what,” said the someone on the giant’s big toe, “why don’t you come back here later and take a look at the horizon again, and I can keep an eye out to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
This seemed fair and reasonable to the giant, so he agreed to it and walked off. And his feet seemed a little less clumsy, and the ground seemed a little less confusing.
***
“I saw things,” he told the someone on his big toe. “Big fluffy things. White and grey and blue and black.”
“Those are clouds,” they told him.
“I like them, I think,” he said. And he walked off and took surer, straighter steps that weren’t quite as cut short.
***
“I saw things,” he told the someone on his right foot. “Little flittery things that went up and down and up and down and up and down and honked.”
“Those are geese,” they told him.
“I think they’re funny, I think,” he said. And he walked off and his back was a little straighter.
***
“I saw something else,” he told the someone leaning against his right leg. “It was so blue it turned black with shine in it and the sun was white.”
“That was the night,” they told him.
“I think I like it. But how come I’ve never seen it before?”
“It’s over the horizon,” they said. “You have to lean just right and look just so and then go farther.”
“Farther than what?” asked the giant.
“Farther than you know.”
The giant itched his arm and thought about it. “That confuses me,” he said. “And what confuses me makes me nervous. And what makes me nervous makes me frightened. And being frightened is the worst thing in the universe.”
“But?” asked the someone leaning against his right leg.
“But I want to see it anyways,” said the giant. And straightened up and looked. And then looked farther.
And farther.
And farther.
And farther.
And farther.
And farther up until there was nothing but everything there was.
***
“Oh,” said the giant. “Oh.”
“What did you see?” asked the someone standing beside them.
“Everything,” said the giant, shaking his head. “Absolutely everything.”
“There’s a lot of it,” they said.
“Yes,” said the giant. Creeks and peaks seemed very ordinary just now. Very small, but close enough to touch. “A lot of it everywhere. I thi. I thin. I think.”
“Yes?” asked the someone standing beside them.
“I like it,” said the giant. “I like it. I’m going to go for a walk now.”
“Mind your step?”
“I don’t need to anymore,” said the giant.
And he went on his way, on his walk, with the world all around him.