Spindle excerpt, 6

The loom was a great and clumsy thing, and on top of that, so was Mudferthing (covered in sweat from the heat of the fire and sniffling constantly, he was quite the sight to see). It looked as though he’d been working on the scarf most of the day, and the ugly thing was still only about fifteen feet long, which is to say about enough to get once around his neck, and no real use as a proper scarf at all, if you were Mudferthing.
The boy, who had never actually seen the giant (or any giant) before, took note of everything he could — the broad, fat shoulders; the broad, fat stomach; the broad, fat hands… to be honest, ‘broad’ and ‘fat’ worked very well for most of Mudferthing until you got to describing his beady, black eyes or the tufts of wiry hair growing out of his ears like extra eyebrows.
The boy got a bit lost in examining the giant (from as far away has he could, naturally) until his attention was caught by Mudferthing swearing.
“Dragon’s balls,” the giant shouted, so loud the boy’s eyes watered. Mudferthing shook his hand as though something had gotten hold of it and wouldn’t let go, and then stuck his thumb in his mouth. “Forf toime todaw,” he mumbled, before withdrawing it and peering at the end, still sniffling.
And there, before the boy’s eyes, was a drop of blood on the giant’s thumb tip.

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