You mean you can hear things I can't hear?
You is deaf as a dumpling compared with me.
You is hearing only thumping loud noises with those little earwigs of yours.
But I am hearing all the secret whisperings of the world.
What sort of things?
I is hearing the little ants chittering to each other as they scuttle around in the soil.
You can hear them talking?
Every single word.
And sometimes, if I swiggle my ears like this and the night is very clear, sometimes I is hearing far away music coming from the stars in the sky.
Never!
My ears is what told me you was watching me out your window.
But I didn't make a sound.
I was hearing your heart beating across the road, loud as a drum.
You think Ice was fiddling you?
Well, it is rather hard to believe.
When Ice is stopping right here, Ice is not wishing to be called a fibster.
Oh, no!
I'm not calling you anything.
I really do believe you.
I shouldn't ever be fiddling to you.
I know.
But you must understand that it isn't easy to believe such amazing things straight away.
Please go on.
Well...
If I is chopping an axe into the trunk of a big tree, I is hearing a terrible sound coming from inside the heart of the tree.
What sort of sound?
Oh, a soft moaning sound, like the sound of an old man is making when he is dying slowly.
Oh, dear.
Yes, such wonderful and terrible sounds I is hearing.
Some of them you would never wish to be hearing yourself, but some...
It's like glorious music.
Can you tell me something?
I is telling you everything now.
Is there a dream floating around in here?
No.
There's no dream in here.
Except in the bottles.
I has a special place to go for catching dreams.
It has not often come into giant country.
How do you catch them?
The same way you was catching butterflies.
With a net.
A net?
Here it is.
This is my dream catcher.
Gosh!
Every morning I is going out and snitching new dreams to put in my bottles.
This feels like a dream right now.
Ah, well.
I is getting hungry.
It is time for eats.
Eats?
Well, if you don't eat people like all the others, then what do you live on?
Well, that is a squelching, tricky problem around here.
In this slosh-flunking giant country, happy eats like pineapples and pigwinkles is simply not growing.
Nothing is growing except for one extremely icky poo vegetable.
And what's that?
It is called the snozzcumber.
The snozzcumber?
Yesterday, we is not believing in giants.
Today, we is not believing in snozzcumbers.
I didn't say I didn't believe in it.
Well, I will show you a snozzcumber so you can see it with your own two little winkles, and then you'll know it exists in this cupboard here.
Ah, there it is.
Oh!
Yeah, here we are.
Here is the repulsant snozzcumber.
Goodness me, it's enormous.
It's almost twice the size of a grown man.
Yes, and you seize all these black and white stripes and all these knobbly wobbly bits.
Yes.
Now that's how you know it's a snozzcummer.
So you eat that?
I do, but I squiggle it, I mis-spice it, I just sponge it.
Oh.
But because I is refusing to gobble up human beings like the other giants, I must spend my life guzzling up icky poo snozzcumbers instead.
Oh, goodness.
If I don't, I will be nothing but skin and groans.
You mean skin and bones.
I know I does, but I cannot be helping it if sometimes I is saying things a little squiggly.
There never was any schools to teach me talking in giant countries.
I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to be rude.
Now then, I has to eat this.
It's fruitling.
It's disgusting.
Oh, be careful.
You're splattering me with a snozzcumber.
You try it yourself.
No, thank you.
It's all you're going to be guzzling around here.
Go on, you whipsy little winkle.
Have a go.
Go on.
Try it.
Go on.
Well, if I must.
Yeah, that's right.
Hmm?
