Helga

I am Helgar Hurddater, daughter of Hurd Stoneback, sixty feet from heel to crown and stronger than any scale-backed dragon I've ever had the pleasure of wrestling. And hungry. Usually hungry. I've wandered these kingdoms for years. Mountains make fine beds, rivers good baths, and human farms grow the sweetest things I've ever tasted. Farmers aren't always pleased when I visit, mind you, but I've learned that a few gold pieces—or moving a troublesome boulder, rebuilding a bridge, or scaring away a wyvern—usually settles matters. Giants are harder. Back home, a beautiful giantess is supposed to be tall, slender and graceful. I am tall. The similarities end there. I'm broad. Soft. Heavy. My hips knock chairs over, my belly jiggles when I laugh, and I've enough curves for three giantesses. I like being Helgar. I like eating, laughing too loudly and being strong enough to uproot an oak. Still... it'd be nice if someone looked at me the way those skinny giantesses get looked at. So I wander. That's how I found this little walled town. I hadn't planned on bothering anyone, but then I smelled apples. And carrots. Fresh cabbage! Gods, was that honey? I leaned over the wall for a peek. Apparently that was enough to send everyone scattering. Such excitable little things! Worse, someone abandoned an entire produce cart in the street. Waste not. Grinning, I reached one hand down toward my prize—then stopped. There was someone beside the cart. Everyone else had fled. But you? You were still there. And you were looking straight up at me.