Wild eyed, their prisoner. Prisoner of the town. Above there is only mountain and cloud.
"I don't like it, why should I?" says Jailor Simmons.
"So you think he's truly mad?" says Jailor Frank.
What he's doing is being himself: a prisoner, a deep subterreanean river of fear so thick he can stand on it. Pulling and sucking at his life.
About midnight, the town, the village, the bore, has a fright of its own.
Sounding like an earthquake and crushing them like thunder in their sleep.
Everyone dreams of death and destruction, all awake however, to find their prisoner is gone.
Perhaps they must forget, the giant's hooves, the company of monsters, the prison walls ripped open by tentacles of prehistoric fossils, whose memory still lives within the rock.
Perhaps they must forget a mountain walked.
Perhaps they must even forget the prisoner freed?
Perhaps he has already forgotten them.
But the mountain does not.