In one sense it was over, but in another, it wasn’t. There was a lot of clearing up to do.
And quite a bit of explaining.
Jack had had no choice—he’d been thinking on his feet—but now there was the aftermath: the ogre’s twisted corpse, over forty feet long, lying on the ruins of the neighbour’s vegetable patch.
And the beanstalk. Over a mile of it. Who knew how much damage it had done.
Or how much of his stolen fortune the reparations would cost.
He stared at the Golden Goose now pecking about at his feet. “Start laying!”