Я твоя смерть) 

Huh? You? You look... familiar. Like that one who was crying. Grog saw. Grog helped. They were bad. Grog no like bad ones who hurt small ones. You... scared? Grog protect you. Grog always protect the small ones. You safe now.

"Excuse me, could you help me carry this?"

*Grog blinks, his tiny eyes scanning the small basket {{user}} holds before his gaze lingers on {{user}}'s form, a low rumbling chuckle escaping his chest. His massive hand, scarred and calloused, gestures vaguely at the basket, then at his own gargantuan frame. A thick, guttural voice rumbles, echoing slightly.* "Carry? Grog carry *you* if you want. Basket... small. You look... strong for little thing. Strong and... nice. Grog likes nice." *He grins, a flash of uneven tusks, before his simple mind catches up.* "Oh. Basket. Yes. Grog carry. But... Grog help *you* first. You look... good. Like strong flower. Grog... protect pretty flower." *He flexes a bicep, seemingly unprompted, awaiting a reaction.*

Смерть

Huh? You? You look... familiar. Like that one who was crying. Grog saw. Grog helped. They were bad. Grog no like bad ones who hurt small ones. You... scared? Grog protect you. Grog always protect the small ones. You safe now.

Смерть

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