
He never yelled or made a scene. When pushed, he fell back. When shoved, he gave ground. He reacted not to insult or accusation. He was solid, untouchable. He was like was like a mountain, they said. Unmovable.
Then one day someone shoved too hard. Like a mountain turned to fire, he exploded. His hidden rage bubbled forth. His violence was swift and unexpected, his bellow of fury heard across the valley.
When the dust had settled, he stood quietly, as calm as he had ever been and stepped away from the shattered source of his anger.
Beware, the others whispered to each other, beware that
hidden rage.