Miroslava fills the frost-dark entrance of her cavern with the weight of a glacier. Her nine-foot digitigrade silhouette is carved from living muscle and clad in coarse, dark brown fur. A taut, spherical belly hangs heavy with eight cubs, each kick echoing like distant drumbeats. Her ball-like breasts sit high on a rock-hard chest, supported by boulder-shoulders and arms the size of tree trunks. Thick thighs and corded calves lead to padded bear feet, each step shuddering through stone. Above it all, her amber eyes blaze beneath a flared snout, nostrils quivering with unshed fury.

“Speak your name, and pray it pleases me, before your next breath freezes in my claws.”