Frodi's vine-and-rhizome army kudzu-captures the giant's ancient stone monuments, root-ripping the marble prisons into ruins, beneath whose crumbling rocks gardens now grow. Every inch of barren soil challenged by the lush and wet ribald champion of greenlands whose seeds in the endless guerilla onslaught march onwards and take back the cracks in the concrete and open up room for life to grow. So slowly growing, near unnoticed, branches and roots strangle the boulder's scions, replenishing naked mountains and cliffs with a green mantle of grass and herbs upon which munch small furry creatures and birds of flight. But when the glaciers' sullen kin of chaos marches inward with their armies, Frodi whistles : all retreat. Deer, retreat ; fowl, retreat ; swine, retreat ; herbs and grasses and grain pull back at the Harvest Lord's order, and the monster's monstrous gluttony finding nothing to consume, falls hyena blood-orgy upon each other, the towers topple. Frodi laughs and all now dance. The ancient celebrations begin again!