Tiger × The Hearthkeeper
Runs the little yard so warm it steams, and turns on anyone who lays a hand on its own, right then and there.
The Hearthkeeper runs the little yard so warm it steams, Procyon hanging low and close to people in the Dusk Crescent. The Tiger threads one taut wire of fierceness through all that ease. So you are calm at the kitchen table right up until someone lays a hand on your own, and then you turn on them right where they stand.
The warmth is real, not a front. You keep the home humming, the soup on, the door open, the way the gentle version of this type does. What makes you the Tiger is the wall behind the warmth. You are the family's hardest wall, the one who steps in front without a second of thought. Procyon stays close to the house; your fierceness stays close to the people inside it.
Here is the snag. You shield so hard that you jump in for kin over a trifle and tip the whole peace over, a small slight answered with a roar that empties the room. The Dusk Crescent is a thin light, soft and low, not a flood lamp. Match the response to the size of the thing. The Still Stream cools the heat for one breath if you let it, and one breath is usually the difference between guarding the yard and burning it down.
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A mirror, not a prophecy. It reflects you as you are right now. How you walk is still yours to choose.