She followed the giant for so long that she thought she was his blood, his hair, his lactose eyes. You cannot kill him with a knife, they warned her.

She possumed in front of the giant’s cave until he took her in. She thrust her knife into his left heel, where he kept his heart. Tough and gristly, the years of callous. She felt his heartbeat dying in the handle of the knife.

I will feast on human flesh until time dies, he cried. You cannot kill me.

She stoked a fire and cut him into pieces then threw his ashes into the wind to scatter. Each particle refused to touch ground and sprang wings instead. Busy wings. And bloodened wings. Long legs and compound eyes. Flight muscles. Serrated mouths and proteinic saliva.

She felt a sting on her cheek, her arm, her neck. She made heat with her fingernails. She wished she could be wingéd and small as ash.