Emberflame Ridge At night he becomes a bartender

Indeed the giant cowered, as despite his stature, he was a gentle soul. A flower-sniffer, a being so unused to those seeking harm to him - even if justified - that he simply did not know what stance he should take. A wolf of his stature would be labeled a brute, a warlord even, but not Haizel - like his namesake, he had grown tall and strong, but gentle and calm. A mighty presence that desired to be friends and play in the shadow of mountains than to wage war.

Her ire struck against his nose as if she had rammed her head into his muzzle. So fresh and hot that he blinked several times before realizing the young wolf had merely pinned him. It wasn't hard, his paw was stuck in the ground.

Hi? I... guess you don't like being called that? I'm truly sorry, I didn't think it was offensive... in truth, most wolves were 'little' to him, smaller. Most did not mind the nickname, he supposed it had become habit. Though he supposed it would do no good to say such.