Iris

[Pack Lore: Granddaughter of Knight and her late mate Kalin (nonexistent on Wolvden)]

Iris padded across the glacier, weary and longing for rest. It was so much harder now to remember the legends whispered in secret, the ones that had driven her north to hunt down the elusive ghosts. She couldn't say she was hunting the rumored pack -- she didn't even know if they existed. All she could do was hope.
Iris's family had been ravaged with tragedy since her grandmother. She had never met the wolf, and her mother hadn't seen her since she was a pup. But the stories had lived on.
The rebellious herbalist, turned traitor on her own pack -- put in her place. An example made of her mate, Iris's grandfather. Chased off the territory, for the safety of the pack. Some sorry excuse. Iris's mother had always been convinced, and she had passed that conviction on to her daughters.
Iris's mother had left with her own mate and daughters when Iris and her sisters were old enough to make the escape. It was not safe for them there. Iris and her two sisters had been given the opportunity to leave when they reached adulthood. And while her sisters had elected to stay, Iris had left. Her mother had no answers about her grandmother. And Iris needed to know.
The only clues were rumors from her mother's old packmates that Knight, Iris's grandmother, had been chased north when she ran, and she had never been heard from again. Some believed she had died; others, that she had simply never stopped running, that she had made it to the end of the world and then kept going.
Iris could not believe she had died. Wherever her grandmother had ended up, surely she had passed by now, but she had heard whispered bits and pieces of stories about her. Iris had to believe she had landed somewhere after she fled.
And now she needed to know just where she ended up. Someone out there had to have known her grandmother.
Still. After so long living a nomadic lifestyle in search of answers to her family's questions, she was exhausted. The land had been strange lately... weather patterns growing in intensity, storms blazing up out of nowhere, the very earth itself shuddering and cracking. And so it had been in every land she had found herself in since departing from the forest. These glacial lands were no different. The unusual warmth would be welcoming, if it were not causing the snow to melt into slush, the ground to soften into quicksand-like mush, and the ice sheets to crack and shift and become slippery under her paws.
Ordinarily, Iris would be unusually vulnerable, a mostly-black wolf amongst a white landscape. But with the snow melting away, her fur did not stand out quite as badly against the exposed rock.
As she trudged along, Iris's paw slipped again on a smooth, wet rock. She shifted her weight to regain her balance, as she had been doing-- only to find that it did not work. This time she plunged further down with a startled yelp, landing almost chest-deep in thick, sludgy mud. No, the unseasonable heat was not fitting for this world. With some amount of panic, Iris realized she could not move her legs. Thrashing about, she did her best to free herself. It was futile, however.
Behind her, a howl rang out from far too close. Iris froze, ears going back instinctively, and she craned her neck to peer over her shoulder.
There, close enough to make eye contact, stood a white wolf with purple paint smeared across her ghostly fur. Purple beaded strings were draped ornately across her body. A glowing purple and pink falcon perched on her shoulders, glowing eyes piercing into Iris. The dark-furred wolf froze, worried at her inability to move.
"You seem to be stuck," came the mild observation.
"I... do indeed," Iris acknowledged carefully.
The white she-wolf stared at her for a moment with a look of... amusement, perhaps? Then she came closer, choosing her steps with great care to avoid falling in herself.
"This place is particularly dangerous to visitors," she remarked. "Especially now." Her tone grew serious on those last two words as she paused to peer around, taking in the landscape. "The land is troubled. Unforgiving has turned to outright hostility... you are not safe here."
"I am not safe anywhere," Iris answered with a frown. "It is no different in the northern areas, either."
"My scouts have told me as much."
"Be that as it may, I need to be here."
"Why?" asked the white wolf as she came as close as she could, to the edge where she could reach out and touch Iris. "What brings you this far north, traveller?"
"My grandmother." At the questioning look, she sighed and shook her head. "I never met her, but... I think she came up here when she was young. I think she has passed now, but... it has been a mystery to my family what happened to her. I need to find answers, for my mother. For myself."
The white wolf nods solemnly. "I am Caer," she said.
"Iris."
"Pleasure to meet you -- I wish it was under different circumstances."
Then, to Iris's surprise, Caer leaned over and grabbed her scruff. Iris yelped and briefly fought back, but stilled when Caer gave a non-threatening growl. So Iris went still, and found herself slowly but surely dragged back to steady ground.
Iris wags their tail with a grin as you nod in approval at the herbs they've returned with.