Golden Glade Its not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog

Goliath stopped mid-walk, a sharp noise pierced the air. It came from a wolf, that much he knew, but he did not understand what most of the words meant- he had been depraved of social contact for nearly 4 entire months, and that had taken an extreme toll on his already nearly-completely vacant vocab.

He turned his collosal head towards the direction of the sound, and saw a single female on the other side of the rill. The gap was minimal, with a single strained stride Goliath could probably move over there, judging purely on the width of the stream.

Instead of doing that, however, which would make most of his ribcage vulnerable, he simply reeled back his dark lips into a snarl, showing off every single one of his fangs up to the mangled, gigantesque molars at the back of his jaw. He puffed up his chest, and lifted his head high enough to look down on the gal- his thick stunted nose only detected a stronger fragrant of the pack- she reeked of them.

A low, guttaral sound emerged from his chest, rolling it's way to his fangs- a deep, distorted growl. If he could scare the petite off, it would be best for both of them.