Sleeping Dragon i'm a cask of oak, i'm whiskey soaked

Her laugh was lost in the crunching of the snow. Still, his chocolate ears rose and stood tall on his skull. Brutus huffed softly and drew the gold of his eyes to her face. She was certainly female. 

As the bear closed the gap between them, he caught the last of her words. She made a remark that he had come down from his perch for her. Drawing a pink tongue across his muzzle, Brutus nodded. “You called.” The baritone of his voice lifted through the air toward her. It was a simple statement.

The dark woman introduced herself as Theia. The bear waited until he was able to draw in the richness of her scent before he offered his own moniker to the ink blot. “Brutus,” he rumbled.