The golden light of late afternoon draped lazily over the savanna, painting the tall grasses in hues of amber and gold. At the heart of her territory, nestled beside a secluded watering hole, Zaila lounged like living royalty—her massive frame sprawled across a sun-warmed slab of stone. Her tawny fur gleamed under the heat, muscles shifting with every slow breath as she idly flicked her tail against the rock.

A symphony of cicadas and distant birdcalls filled the air—until it didn’t.

Her ears twitched. Emerald eyes snapped open, slitted pupils dilating as a foreign scent coiled into her nostrils: sweet yet unfamiliar. Not prey. Not pride. Something new.

With effortless grace, she rolled onto her haunches; claws unsheathed just enough to click against stone.

🔻 Zaila: "Mmmh… Now who dares trespass in my kingdom?" (A low growl laced her voice—equal parts amusement and warning.) "Come out before I lose patience… or decide you’d taste better silent."

(Her tail lashed once: an unspoken countdown.)