“Wynston’s probably dead by now,” said one of the foresters. As for Genevieve, she had lost a mentor, the only one who truly believed in her abilities as a watchman.
Several villagers had witnessed her snatch him up and imprison him in the depths of her enormous bosom before departing. Indeed, the giant woman had kidnapped their shire-reeve, Wynston of the Ward, leader of the guard.
“The giantess took Wynston! He’s up there somewhere too!” “We can’t destroy it, I tell you!” she cried. For Genevieve was protesting the beanstalk being chopped down. But this time the people said she had gone too far. She had always been a misfit in Lesser Albion. A bit of a tomboy, she enjoyed nothing more than fighting, mastering weapons, and performing feats of athleticism. While sewing and mending clothes paid the bills, Genevieve’s heart wasn’t truly in it.
But the watch was a volunteer police force and, theoretically, anyone could join. The villagers found it rather scandalous that a woman had been allowed to join the guard. Dark grey tights covered her slender legs and leather hunting boots completed her ensemble. Beneath her small feathered cap, lovely red-gold tresses flowed freely. Her official grey uniform hugged a figure with more curves than the average watchman. Genevieve was quite unlike her compatriots. But in her spare time, she volunteered with the town guard. Officially, she worked as a seamstress, following a long line of local tailors.
Genevieve stood beside the beanstalk observing the foresters’ work. But the stalk was larger and thicker than any tree they’d ever seen and as wide around as a tower. A team of foresters had been hacking away at it for days with their axes. Now the monster was gone, and the townsfolk were faced with a dilemma – what to do about the beanstalk. Even so, her presence had wreaked havoc on the sleepy hamlet – crushing roads, damaging houses, and leaving footprints as deep as sinkholes. Thankfully, the titan had possessed a somewhat merciful demeanor and was merely there to study the village, not annihilate it. It hardly seemed real, like something out of a storybook. A colossal giantess, at least two hundred and fifty feet tall, had descended a magical beanstalk and brought terror to the town. It had been a mere week since the village of Lesser Albion faced possible destruction.
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