The horses looked like squirrels beneath him. The ground itself felt bouncier. No wonder Fermona was always in such a cheery mood. Being a giant felt fantastic. The house never materialized again, allowing Ben to push his family out of his mind, if only for a moment. Pining and yearning would do nothing for him now. He would have to be like a reporter dropped into a war zone, in a place to observe it, but not of it. Maybe he could keep it together if he was clinical about his plight, if he acted as if he elected to be there for a work assignment. Be at a remove. Be analytical, distant, unemotional. Keep yourself busy and the burden of time eases. But thinking clinically wasn’t going to be easy for him. The shock waves were wearing off, the dread laid bare. There were so many years left to go, the mere thought of them heavier than pure lead. He ruminated on the final, terrified utterances of Fermona’s victims, some of them crying out the name of the creature up in the castle ahead.
