He ran, having dropped his pack, his sword, his helmet, and any pretense of dignity or bravery. Where the ground was level and clear he felt as a gazelle must; where it was broken and overgrown he leaped, stumbled and swore and begged the gods to return him their favor. The shaking of the ground made matters increasingly worse.
Eventually he lost his footing, fell, rolled, tried to get up and failed. He was plunged into shadow, and twisted to look up. From out of the silhouette of the giant thrust an immense open palm, straight at where he lay.