Sleeping Dragon i'm a cask of oak, i'm whiskey soaked

Flattery was a foreign concept to the russet bear. She was tactful in her verbiage. This too was a foreign concept to the bear. His words were plain. He could not coat his language in frills and formalities. It was not within his capabilities. 

Because of this, her flattery was ignored. When she inquired about his reasoning for traversing the peaks of the volcano, he frowned and turned his broad skull toward the higher crags. ”I’m a mountain warrior. This one is different. Doubt it’s suitable for a home,” he drawled. ”Why are you-“ he paused. ”What are you out here for?”