So let's say you're out exploring...
Heading to some dungeon someplace, or just on a general quest, whatever gets you out into the subtropical forests. You come through a clearing, and suddenly you're face to face with an ogre.
Now, your first instinct upon seeing the shaggy, vaguely man-like giant with its gangly arms and mouth of fangs is going to be to draw steel on it. This is what is generally referred to as "a mistake."
An ogre's reach, strength and endurance far outclass your own, and they use makeshift clubs with frequency.
But most importantly, combat is rarely needed to deal with these creatures. Contrary to reputation, they rarely seek out meat, preferring fruits and soft plants. Nor are they enraged by joy and happiness, as many a fool bard prattles on about.
The open mouth smile is considered a threatening gesture to these creatures, as it is a prelude to combat between them. If encountering an ogre, it is best to slowly back away while making yourself as small and nonthreatening as you can, and do not look the beast in the eyes.
Ogres will rarely pursue a nonthreatening humanoid that is leaving their territory.
A pursed lip, 'kissing' expression appears to be a signal of friendliness, and can be used to signal you are not a threat. If an ogre returns this gesture, maintain a polite distance. When they aren't seen as threat, smaller humanoids come across as children to ogre perception. Tales of 'ogre wives' capturing burly warriors and offering them a 'wedding feast' of fruit, insects and strange plants are not, in fact, captives of a lovesick monster.
Rather, the warrior in question has been mistaken for a particularly inept and helpless ogre child (or something close enough to adopt) and is being fed on the assumption they don't yet know how to gather their own food. The 'jealous, watchful eye' of the ogre is more likely the same kind of watchful concern one gives a clumsy or easily distracted child.
As such, it's best to not get 'adopted' in the first place.
--
On Ogres, by Maudlin Dirge, 1572 E.E.
