Black Morass wild women

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The unwavering behemoth prowled outside the Strath today. 
Her daughters, with her as always. Never too far away.

Never. 

The Warchief was steadily showing them the rest of the valley, the entirety of territory that was theirs to claim.

And then, a dirtied figure, trapsing lost-like in the muck of the Morass.
Ears perked, eyes fierce and wary, Fury would let out a low, gruff woof to signal her and her ilk's presence.

Her stance was protective and firm, mindful of the small forms of her children at her forelegs.