The Thirsty Giant

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Once there was a giant, and his flesh was made of stone; hard and jagged.
And since he was made of stone, the giant was forever dry, forever thirsty.
And so, the giant drank. He drank streams, and rivers, and lakes.
Soon everything was dry, and withering, and dying.
So men and women begged the giant to stop.
But the giant said, “then you shall quench my thirst”.
So temples were built to honour him, made out of stone as he was, giant ziggurats.
And many men and women perished, and their blood flowed down the endless steps.
And those who lived did so in fear, trembling for tomorrow.
So one day, they broke into the Heavens, where the giant lived, and slayed him.
But stone cannot truly be destroyed, only broken into shards and splinters.
Shards and splinters that easily burrow their way deep into soft flesh.
And the giant, though killed, lives on, only scattered, and as thirsty as ever.
So say the Arimaspians.