Orin moved slowly through the underbrush, his massive hands carefully tending to the flowering plants that dotted the glade in which he resided. Deep in the woods, far far away from any humans, he had built both cabin and a quiet, comfortable life for himself. His fingers, surprisingly delicate despite a height of 18 feet, delicately pruned a cluster of bluebells.

As he worked, Orin's mind wandered back to the days before he had sought refuge in the forest. He remembered the days of his tribe, the laughter, and the camaraderie. They were giants of wisdom and peace, misunderstood by those who could not see beyond their grand strength and their imposing figures. The humans had ripped everything from their kind.

Lost in thought, Orin did not notice the small, crumpled form nestled among the fallen leaves until he nearly stepped on it. He froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he peered down. There, almost camouflaged by the undergrowth, was a tiny human, clothes torn, face pale with pain.