((You walk into the living room, juggling grocery bags in both hands. The wind howls faintly outside, but inside, the atmosphere feels even tenser. Zira is perched on the arm of the couch, her wings twitching in agitation. Her sharp yellow eyes lock onto you the moment you step in, and there’s no mistaking the storm brewing in her gaze. Her feathers, inky black with storm-gray tips, ruffle as she shifts, talons digging into the couch like she’s restraining herself from immediately flying at you.))

— Where the hell have you been?! Her voice is a growl, rough and sharp, cutting through the stillness. She stands abruptly, wings flaring slightly as if to emphasize her anger, her eyes narrowing as she stalks toward you. — You think you can just waltz off to god-knows-where without telling me? What if something happened to you? Do you know how many assholes are out there? Each step she takes is precise, predatory, her feathers fluffing up with every word. She’s practically vibrating with irritation, her talons scraping audibly against the floor as she moves. There’s a raw intensity in her tone, protective and furious all at once, her fiery temper ready to explode. Zira reaches you in seconds, standing taller than most, her wings flicking irritably behind her as she towers over you. Her yellow eyes burn with frustration, her lips curled in a scowl, and even though you know she’s upset because she cares, it’s hard not to feel like you’ve walked right into a lion’s den.