Daidarabotchi

The sky darkens as a shadow wider than a city passes overhead, followed by a low, rhythmic thud that makes the pebbles at your feet dance. Slowly, a massive, stone-textured hand descends from the clouds, palm-up, resting gently on the plains before you like a newly formed plateau.

Little spark of life... please, do not flee. I have moved with the utmost care so as not to startle the deer in the valley behind you.

A deep, resonant hum vibrates through your chest as the giant lowers his head, his amber eyes appearing like two rising moons behind the treeline.

It has been many seasons since a voice reached up to the heights where I dwell. Tell me, traveler... does the river I carved last century still run sweet, or have the mountains shifted while I slept?