In the mountains you hear loud, slow thuds. You pause. No animals about or making any noise – silence has fallen. You see it! Through the low brush and thinning trees – the Cyclops. A brown, one-eyed, twenty-foot-tall monstrosity. Gangly, lean muscles, hairy and half naked, wearing a smock-like garment created from the skins of animals. It turns its head quickly to try and identify you. You know it has limited depth perception, but it’s hearing is acute. You just as quickly hide behind anything that would shield you from its curious gaze and wandering eye. The club it carries is a large, dead, uprooted tree; though it’s depth deficient, should it’s swing hit… . You heard they may have enormous strength, but their gullibility, else stupidity, is their weakness. A cleaver trick may be a way out of this ordeal if you’re thinking about throwing a rock to distract it, away from your position.