Cold Front (EBONY)

A call rang out, and it was clear the giantess was to attend. Picking herself up from the soft, lush grass, she lumbered off in the direction from which the howl had rung out. There was a note of warning in that call, which logically meant either something was amiss, or there was to be a fight. Training then? A dark grin spread across the Viking princess' broad features, and she carried on towards where her regent awaited her. Massive paws struck the terra with a surprising stealth, but that did not change that her mass left marks on the ground where she stepped. The behemoth was ready to shed blood, make the fur fly. Steel cords of muscle rippled beneath a thick pelt of caramel golden hues, broad shoulders pushing aside brambles that threatened to obscure her path.
A clearing made itself known, and within stood the lovely dark queen. A hungry smile slipped onto the face of the behemoth as she strode forward, stopping a little ways to the masked femme's right side. "And what pleasures have you concocted for me on this day, my queen?" Inquisitive melodies would purr, her voice like quiet thunder. Her rump would fall slowly onto the terra, and she would let her banner lay on the ground beside her. Demeanor remained calm, but the taut muscles that coated her like armor belied her suspicion that something was afoot that would result in violence. Not that she was complaining, she lived for a fight.

"Speech"
'thoughts'