The trees grew fewer and fewer. Ivan swung around, and peered ahead, clinging to Costan’s hair. They were coming to a great open space in the midst of the forest, a meadow thronged with giants and giantesses. There seemed to be hundreds of them, dressed not like Costan in skins but in wonderful shimmering garments that blew about their shoulders like clouds of mist in the moonlight. In the center of them all was a huge fountain that shot up in a silver torrent far above their heads.
One of the giants came running to meet Costan. “Oh, here you are!” he cried. “We were afraid you weren’t coming.” And with that, he gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder that nearly sent Ivan spinning off a hundred feet or more to the ground.
Costan explained about his hurt foot. “I’ll just sit and look on for to-night,” he said, and chuckled to himself, thinking of Ivan.
A fountain that shot up in a silver torrent
And so Ivan, safely nestled on Costan’s shoulder, watched till his eyes stood out, as the giants danced and played giant games, chasing each other through the fountain, with a shower of spray like a whirling rainstorm. They wrestled, they leaped, they sang till all the trees trembled.
