Tribe: Silver Fang   Auspice: Philodox     Breed:  Feral
Nature:  Cub    Demeanor:  Predator

           In the late seventies, as part of a misguided environmental directive, several packs of the rapidly disappearing Siberian Tundra Wolf were transplanted to the Alaskan wilds in a vain attempt to save the endangered
species.  Among those wolves forcibly snatched from their territories, were several Silver Fang Kinfolk.  Years later, bound in by the Alaskan pipeline, various oil spills and encroaching humanity, the packs were being driven further  and further into the Arctic.

          To one such pack, on a dark Arctic night as the Aurora Borealis danced before a waning half-moon, one last new cub was born.  Pollution, habitat destruction and time had worked their evil magic on these few survivors from Siberia and the pack was dying out.

          The cub -- with white fur, bright blue eyes and strange, strange ways -- ran with her slowly dying pack for the next two years.  Never completely fitting in with the sick and starving members of her pack, the cub had a curiosity and an intelligence that showed whenever she lifted her muzzle to the sky or hunted down a hidden crevice in the side of a clear, reflective iceflow.

          Then, on another night when Aurora danced around the failing moon, the cub went mad.  Striking out at all around her, her blue eyes glazed in fear and pain, her muzzle flecked with foam, and her fur falling out in huge tufts of white....

          When the episode was done, and the furtive pack was miles away, a young woman lay on the ice.  Pale white skin, pale white hair, bright blue eyes closed in misery as she lay fetal and exposed to the Arctic night.

          It was here that Turin High Wind found her.  Turin had been given the task of watching his dying Kinfolk in the North in the faint hope that a proud Silver Fang might yet emerge from their misery.  After long years of painful
observation, he was rewarded.

          Quickly he gathered up the shivering girl, easily avoiding the few pitiful 'clawstrikes' she attempted.  He brought her back to his camp, and there began the new cub's education into the world of the Garou.  But Nightskyfire was particularly stubborn.  A little language, some basic human mannerisms, some of the Garou heritage and a few rites were all Turin managed to ingrain in her before the 'incidents' just became too much.

          Nightskyfire's 'incidents' ran the gamut from aborted attempts to return to her pack to some damn close calls with local hunters -- white pelt, very valuable.  Further complications were caused by the girl's near fanatical hatred of oil and the refining industry, a heritage of her wolfen days.  Turin realized that he couldn't manage the young feral all by himself.

          Seeding her with any of the local Wendigo septs was out of the question.  Turin, himself of Russian descent, had taught the girl a language heavily laden with a Slavic accent, and the local Wendigo would be.... reluctant to deal with a feral of such obvious foreign nature.  And no Silver Fang pack or sept existed this far into the North.  It was with a reluctant spirit that Turin looked southward for a solution....


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