Parcen held his boot over the tiny village below, struggling to maintain balance with his other leg, which was planted in a small lake. Tiny little screams came from the tiny city's villagers. Parcen threw himself forward, onto a mountain rage, so that he wouldn't crush any of the terrified little ones.
"I'm sure you can hear me," he called from the mountain range down to the village. "My name is Parcen Ellt, and I'm sorry I almost stepped on you."
Parcen waited for a response from the villagers, scratching at a flock of birds that had alighted on his earlobe. He had to be careful not to move too much, as every shift was a forest down and every stretch was a toppled mountain.
Eventually, Parcen saw a tiny little trail of people come marching out of the village. He watched them wade through the river, then trek up over the foothills and up into the mountains. When the expedition had come very near to Parcen's resting head, one of them took out a little megaphone and addressed the inquisitive giant.
"Giant!" the tiny voice called. "Why do you come to terrorize us?"
"I don't," Parcen said. "It's the darndest thing, but I've been popping in and out of realities, on account of the magic cave I'm in."
The little group of people retreated and spoke amongst themselves, and then the man with the megaphone took his position at the front of the group once more.
"Are you drunk?" he asked.
"No," Parcen said. "I wish I was. But no, really, I'm trapped in some sort of bizarre something, where nothing is what it should be. I am a pilot. But now... now I'm a giant!"
The wee group on the mountainside discussed the situation once more, and then the megaphone speaker asked, "Where are you from?"
"I am from Alm," Parcen answered.
"Well," the little speaker laughed, "so are we!"
"This is Alm?" Parcen gasped. "Where am I?"
"You are in Aislinn," the speaker said. "On Aelioanei."
"But that can't be," Parcen said. "You're all so... small!"
"No," the speaker said. "It is you that is giant! Our whole world is as it should be. Yours is not. Perhaps you need to go home?"
"I'd love to," Parcen said. "But I don't know how."
"Where are you from?" the little man asked.
"Virvi," Parcen answered.
"Well, let's send you back there, why don't we?" the little man asked.
"You would do that?!" Parcen asked, getting excited. He shook the mountains when he began to twitch enthusiastically.
"We would!", the little man said, as he and his group rolled around the trembling mountainside, "if you would be so kind as to stay put until we can build you a raft!"
"Understood," Parcen said.
"In the meantime, we can bring you some beer. How does that sound?" the little man asked.
"Excellent!" Parcen said.
For the next two weeks, Parcen sipped the villager's tiny little barrels of beer. He drank the whole town's store but didn't get very drunk at all, and so the time he spent waiting was incredible boring. Though, seeing storms develop around his midsection was always interesting, and the little lightning bolts from the little storm clouds tickled his belly and made him laugh. Which shook the villagers, and brought their little buildings to ruin. This increased the haste at which they constructed Parcen's raft.
Eventually, the raft was ready. Parcen tip-toed to it, squashing only one unfortunate soul by accident, a chap who had forgotten the day was Giant-to-the-Sea Day. The little people strapped Parcen into the raft, which was very buoyant and well-crafted. They sent him off with a few roasted cows, and some apple trees for dessert.
Parcen expected to drown at sea, or arrive in a tiny little Virvi. Death would be better than endless variety and confusion, and at least a tiny Virvi would still be home. If he ever made it there, he would strap himself to a mountain peak and live out his days.