"You know, I had a chance at one point to learn some of the finer details of Giantese writing." he relaxes into a wistful expression, as he begins to recount yet another tale with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "It all started when I lost a bet to a dryad, renowned in the Feywild not only for her cunning but also as a master matchmaker. My forfeit? To serve as translator for a lovesick hill giant, who'd become deeply smitten with a particularly statuesque and stoic birch tree."
He chuckles, shaking his head at the memory. "This wasn't just any run-of-the-mill infatuation, oh no! Our lovelorn friend was a budding poet at heart. He'd spend hours, quill in hand – well, more like a sprig of willow branch, really – composing the most heartfelt, if slightly ponderous, love sonnets for his beloved birch. And there I was, obligated to translate his giant-sized affections into something a bit more... tree-friendly.
"By the end of it, not only had I become fluent in Giantese, I'd also became quite adept at transcribing massive love poems onto parchment. Etching into granite? That, I left to the giant – my talents lie more in finesse than brute strength! As for the birch tree, she remained unimpressed. But the giant, in his simple, earnest way, seemed blissfully unaware of the tree's lack of interest. He claimed their love was as enduring as the mountains, steadfast and unyielding.
"The giant, bless his heart, mistook the tree's stoic stillness for a kind of bashful acceptance of his romantic overtures. Every gust of wind rustling through her leaves, he saw as her way of whispering sweet nothings back to him. When she'd sway gently in the breeze, he'd interpret it as a demure nod to his grand declarations of love. In his lovestruck mind, her rooted silence could only be a profound reciprocation of his deep and mountainous affection."
