Spindle excerpt, 8

Now, while the boy is working on getting the spindle loose, I should let you know what Mudferthing is up to, because he certainly isn’t sleeping, not with a sneak-thief in the house.
Oh yes, he definitely knows about that.
The boy was lucky that the giant was sick that day, because as you know, a giant’s sense of smell is uncanny keen, and he would have squished the boy into jelly for his evening toast if he’d so much as caught a whiff of him. But, with his nose clogged up, of course he didn’t.
Still, Mudferthing knew that something was wrong; he could feel it. Giants have a kind of sense about them — a way of knowing things they couldn’t really know that almost makes up for their generally mean natures and utterly dim wits, and Mudferthing, as I’ve said, was the worst of them all. He knew that he knew… something. He just couldn’t say what.
So, once his scarf was done, he shuffled out of the weaving room very loudly, then turned himself around and got very, very quiet. It’s not a thing that most folk know a giant can do, because it’s not in giants’ best interest to advertise the fact, but they can move like a cat when they need to, if they’re in a place they know very well, which Mudferthing certainly was. So, while the boy waited and waited and counted to two hundred, Mudferthing had crept back to the door, peeked in at the weaving room, and did a little waiting of his own.
When the boy started his run across the room, the giant thought, “Fee, there goes the little hairless rat! I knew there was summat there!”
When the boy climbed up on his stool, the giant thought, “Fi, what’s he up to? I’m gonna squish him into jelly for my toast, but I’ll see what his greedy guts have got into before that!”
When the boy swung under the loom and started working on the rawhide tie, the giant thought, “Foe! He’s after my spindle! My most prized possession!” (Which it certainly was not, and certainly was not what he had been cursing and calling it all day, but a giant who sees a thief going after one of his already-stolen things thinks of it as the most precious, and that is the honest truth.)
That was all the giant needed to see. He burst into the room and shouted, “Fum! You’ll not get away from me, my little jelly pastry!” Which is not a very terrifying battle-cry, unless it is being shouted at you by a giant.
Here, you must give the boy credit, because he did not loose his nerve.