Children of the Gods

A child of the gods she may be, but it did not help her when she was in search of her tribe. Nor did it help her in this infernal cold which seeped into her very bones. Ardora winced as the cold mud splattered on her paws even when she stepped carefully upon the ground; it was absolutely frigid at night, but now, mid-afternoon... it was just wet. And soggy. And still cold. And yet, despite the mud everywhere, Ardora could see the natural beauty of the land. When it would warm again, there would be an abundance of herbs, she believed, for this struck her as a very green and fertile land. A place to resettle her tribe, if she could ever find the members of it again.

The failure stung her; never before had she faced failure. She brought prosperity to her people. Prosperity in the form of being well-fed, of having great litters of children, of health and of happiness... all that was ruined by a simple foreign group of wolves who didn't understand the will of the gods and sought to destroy what was true and perfect.

Growling quietly, she prowled the lands, nose and eyes peeled for anything that might be around. At this point, she'd been all over - into this land and beyond it, and now she had doubled back and was searching a new swath that hopefully would lead her to the wolves she wanted to be lead to. Quickly, quietly, she sent a prayer to the gods; oh, let her find her people. Let her have the opportunity to please the gods once more, and be a true leader.


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