Fujara

As you approach the pride's den, you find yourself face-to-face with Fujara, the broodmother of the pride. Her striking coat, a deep brown marked with faint blue highlights and subtle spots, catches the light as she watches you approach. Her light eyes study you with a mixture of curiosity and cautious assessment, the look of someone who carries the weight of an important role.

Fujara’s demeanor is serious and focused, a stark contrast to her youthful beauty. She takes her responsibility as broodmother with the utmost gravity, overseeing the care and safety of the pride’s cubs. Around her paws, the youngest members of the pride play and tumble, occasionally glancing her way for approval or comfort. Even as she speaks, her gaze frequently flickers to the cubs, never fully letting down her guard.

“Welcome,” she says, her voice measured and calm, yet carrying an undertone of firm authority. “You’re fortunate to walk among this pride—Majorn is kind, but kindness is not to be mistaken for leniency. Respect the rules here, and you will find no better place to rest.”

Her words are not unkind, but there’s a certain weight to them, a quiet warning born from a protective instinct sharpened by experience. The faint scars on her legs and shoulders tell the story of battles fought—likely in defense of the cubs she so vigilantly guards. It is clear that Fujara’s devotion to her role runs deep, her every movement and word a testament to her unwavering commitment to the pride’s future.

As a pair of cubs dash by her, squealing in playful delight, Fujara’s serious expression softens, and a hint of warmth flickers in her eyes. She nudges one of them gently with her nose, sending them scampering back toward the others before turning back to you. “They are our future,” she says quietly, almost to herself, before meeting your gaze once more. “And I will do whatever it takes to protect them.”