Young Writers Society

                The wind was strong, icy and sharp as a blade as it whipped the silky grass to and fro. It looked almost like the ocean, minty green and rolling like the foamy waves that painted the horizon. The sun was practically grazing the distant land with its hot, fire-ridden breath, dashing the tips of the distant, snow-capped mountains with a streak of red, which soaked into the ground like blood. Each inhale sent cold air through his lungs, like icicles ripping at his tonsils. He could only ride, on and on, his horses hooves pounding the earth beneath him, its muscles rippling underneath its tight, glistening hide, breathing rough and heavy. His mouth was dry and almost sandy, perspiration coating his lips and fog clinging to his curly, unkempt hair. Everything was damp, making his loose clothing cling to his snow-pale skin. Though his hands stung from the rising blisters, he still clung to the leather strap that kept him from flying off the horses bobbing back. 

              He glanced to the side, straining his eyes in the direction of the red-streaked, snowy mountains. Jotunheim. He imagined he could see the great, ice-spiked backs of the Jotuns rising and lowering between the mountain peaks, their blue, lumpy heads rising, silhouetted against the sky. But even if he couldn't see them, he could feel them. Their magic rippled through the ground, making valley rabbits hop like frightened water bugs across the grass, their little pink noses shivering. It hung in the air like mist, making goosebumps rise on his strained, shivering arms and the hairs on the back of his neck rise. His heart felt like that of a nervous kitten, sputtering in his chest. He knew they were coming, he could practically imagine their beady blue eyes, like the feeling you get when you dip your bare feet into something so cold it was like a wave of fire burning up your skin.

           He was almost to the beach, damp grass slowly being replaced by the bone-white sand that spread out in miles on either side, pushing forward and pulled back by the foamy, cold green water. The fluffy-tailed valley rabbits had just barely disappeared into the deep green brush on the far left when the ground began to rumble. It started with barely a shudder, a distant sound reverberating around the mountains and making the glassy surface of the water ripple. Then it become a shudder, the surface rolling with each footstep, like the heartbeat of a heart buried deep within the earth. But it was not a heart, unfortunately, it was great, shuddering footsteps, and they were quickly approaching. His horse was standing close enough to the water that it brushed at the bottom of his hooves, creating foamy scoops where they stood. For a hesitant moment, where the ocean seemed to hold it's breath and the wind seemed to halt as if waiting for something, everything was still. The sky unfolded above them, stuck in its rusty haze, and in front of them, many miles away but running fast, the great Jotuns emerged. 

           First came their heads as they rose, great squares of clunky ice, with noses stuck out like broken, bent blades and mouths like scars splitting through their uneven faces. There were at least three of them, with small, mean eyes, except they were less like eyes and more like sockets holding little blue bugs, which whizzed this way in that in a crazed, hungry way. Their bodies were even more terrifying to him, and to his horse too, who backed farther into the water and neighed in alarm. Their chests were broad and thick, glistening red and icy blue, their arms giant chunks of splintered ice with knuckles bigger then the squat, ramshackle houses from the village from whence he came. His horse began to neigh, a shrill, anxious sound, and he reared back. The air was electric with energy as the ice giants stumbled over each other in an angry, blood-hungry attempt to crush the small boy standing in front of the ocean.

       The boy was afraid, but not as afraid as he believed himself to be. In fact, despite the racing of his shivering heart and the great pounding of the hungry Jotuns, he was calm. His mind was blank, he was not thinking, he was merely staring into the dark, flitting eyes of the first Jotun and daring it to come closer. And come it did. 

          "Go!" The boy shouted to his horse, his words coming out of his mouth like a hoarse cough, and he ripped the leather straps to the side. The horse screeched, and with a spray of glittering white sand, he stumbled to the side. "Run, run!" The black swirl of its main blinded the boy, and he could only hope and pray that he ran fast enough to outsmart the giants and send them tumbling into the sea. There was a great roar, a roar that shook the trees and the grass, and even the sky seemed to shake like a door on loose hinges in a thunderstorm. Then a splash, a splash like someone throwing an object through a window, and water poured over the boy and his horse, coating them with cold, salty seawater. 

          The boy turned turned his head to see the tangle of giant icy limbs as the once-ferocious Jotuns scrambled to claw their way out of the water. But they were slowly melting, tangled in slimy seaweed that tied them down. The boy watched triumphantly, and the last thing he saw were the eyes of one of the Jotuns, mean, but fading like a distant dream. Then, there was silence.  The waves went back to their regular thrumming, the sun began to fade like yellow paint on the faded wall of an old house, and the wind began to run it's cool fingers through the leaves of the forest. Bunnies heads began to pop up, ears perked nervously and noses quavering in the air.

      The boy sat on his horse, in the fading light of day, with nothing but giant, melting footsteps disappearing into the swish of the ocean to indicate any sign of struggle before this peaceful moment.