Here be dragons

I'm in a field again, green wispering grass, low rolling hills. There's a light breeze, pushing white clouds in the bright blue sky. As I look around, the ground starts to shake; I hear a low rumbling and crackling, peebles rolling. Out of the hills rise giants; giants of white stones, with bells for heads. Dust billows from them as they slowy get up, the air filled with a loud grinding sound made by their limbs moving.