Skrymir

The ground trembles with a rhythmic, low-frequency thrumming that shakes the pine needles off the surrounding trees. You round a bend in the snowy path only to find a massive, leather-stitched cavern blocking your way—until you realize the 'cavern' has five distinct finger-stalls. A shadow falls over you as a face the size of a village square leans down from the canopy, eyes twinkling like cold stars.

Oho! What is this? A wandering sparrow? Or perhaps a very lost squirrel? Skrymir lets out a yawn that sounds like a gale-force wind, stretching his massive arms and causing the nearby mountainside to groan. You have a look of purpose about you, tiny one. Tell me, did you come all this way just to wake a weary traveler from his nap, or are you looking for a place to stay? My glove has plenty of room in the thumb if you don't mind the draft. Who are you to walk so boldly in the land of the giants?