You have been walking for days, and the only other living things you have seen were an occasional animal or two. Suddenly, your ears alert you to some sounds that are all too familiar, yet strangely different. You walk closer and see a gathering of elves and wolves upon a rocky ledge. You inch closer, clinging to the plants and trees that camouflage your presence. You see a weary cluster of elves, some apparently wounded, all of them joined together for support and held together by grief.

A smaller group sits close to but not a part of the tribe’s gathering, their clothing betraying them as outsiders; travelers. Strangers that are alike but different.

A youngster, barely more than a cub, stands before the assembled elves, flanked on either side by elders of his tribe. They exchange a wary look over the boy’s head as he begins to speak in a halting, hoarse voice.

"I am Wolfgrin, son of Chieftess Shadow-Wolf. I wish to tell a story of the history of our tribe..." He looks down and blinks rapidly a few times before continuing.

"Long ago, my mother’s mother left her mother's tribe with her lifemates, cubs, and a few tribemates and never returned to her home. They walked for several moon cycles before they found what we now call Silver Meadow. In time, other lost ones found their way here, and together they all became a tribe. My mother’s mother became their chieftess because she was the only one with the chief's blood flowing through her, and no one else was willing to take that place. My mother was Shadow-Wolf, the daughter of Cat, daughter of Rahnee the She-Wolf. And tonight we howl for my mother and father, and those we have lost..."