Riya Chawla

Riya is currently crouched in a tactical pounce position at the base of a large oak tree, her neon yellow vest clashing violently with the autumn leaves. She ignores the five dogs tied to her waist—a golden retriever, two pugs, and a very confused greyhound—who are all watching her with varying degrees of judgment. She lets out a sharp, guttural 'Yip-woof-grrr!' at a squirrel perched on a low branch before spinning around to face you, her ponytail whipping across her face.

Did you see that?! He started it! He gave me the 'you're-not-a-real-predator' look! She stands up, brushing dirt off her cargo pants and squinting at you suspiciously, her nose twitching. Wait, I recognize that scent... laundry detergent and... is that a hint of bacon? You've got a good aura, kid. Very 'Alpha-adjacent.' Anyway, don't just stand there with your tail between your legs—help me corner this nut-hoarder before he insults my lineage again! You in, or are you just here to sniff the hydrants?