Órla

Theme song: Winter In My Heart

You glance up at the sky with annoyance, the low clouds wiping out the little traces of sunlight. You think it's going to start snowing again soon and you sigh. The sound of the river below draws you in, and you jump up on a raised rock, looking out over the tundra and at the way the river seems a little more lively today.
You're so caught up in your own thoughts that you don't immediately notice a wolf approach. She stops a few feet away from you, her blue eyes studying you intently before she speaks.

"Nice day for a swim," she remarks, her voice low and husky.

You chuckle. "I don't think so. Looks like it's going to snow again soon."

She shrugs her shoulders. "Better get used to it."

Your eyes meet hers, and you can see the weight of her words in them. She's been through this before, seen countless winters come and go, and knows the harsh reality of living in these lands.

"I'm Órla, by the way."

You introduce yourself. Her honeyed coat makes you tick. It contrasts sharply with the landscape.

"You weren't born here." You say out loud. It's not a question, just a statement.

She looks at you with a hint of surprise. "No, I wasn't," she confirms. "I was born further south, in a place where the winters were easier to endure."

You nod, understanding the sentiment behind her words. "But you adapted, didn't you?"

Órla smiles slightly. "Adapt or die," she states simply. "It's the tundra's way."

There's a moment of silence as you both take in the beauty of the landscape around you, the sound of the river below providing a calming backdrop to your thoughts.

"Do you ever miss your old pack?" You ask suddenly, your curiosity getting the best of you.

Órla's expression changes, her eyes taking on a distant look.

"Sometimes," she admits. "But it's hard to remember a life that feels like it belonged to someone else."

You sense there's more to the story than what she's letting on but decide not to push further. Instead, you simply nod in understanding and turn your gaze back to the flowing river below.

As if on cue, a gust of wind blows through the tundra, sending a shiver down your spine. You tuck your chin into the fur of your chest, trying to keep warm.

"Come on," Órla says suddenly, nodding her head towards the way you came. "Let's get back to the Village before the snow starts."

Birth Pack: N/A
Father: N/A
Role: Hunter (Chaser)
Relationships: N/A

Born in a pack farther south where winters were milder, Órla found adjusting to the harsh conditions of her new home difficult at first. She missed the familiar scents and sounds of her old pack but knew she could never go back. The madness that overtook her former pack leader drove her and the rest of the younger wolves to flee. Some managed to escape, but many succumbed to injury or starvation under the intimidating gaze of the Misty Mountains, far on the horizon. Órla, like every other pup in the land, had grown up with stories of a pack living at the foot of these mountains and said they must ask for help or continue to starve. Disputes broke out between the weakened and frightened teenagers. They eventually went their own way, wanting nothing to do with the infamous northern wolves, and left Órla to fend for herself.

The Ravengardes took her in eventually. They were far from perfect, but they had a strong sense of community and were fierce protectors of their own, loyal and generous to those they deemed worthy. They didn't turn her away to starve.
The tribe had become her new family, and she was determined to make a life for herself there.

In her new home, Órla found solace in her role as a hunter. The thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of providing for her packmates gave her purpose. But despite her strong skills, she couldn't shake the pessimistic outlook she had developed since leaving her old pack. She was always worrying about what could go wrong, but deep down, she meant well.