Lost Silver

It is in the temperate zones of southern Feran that the Growlderikin can be found. They are a proud and noble family of H'roofa with a line of ancestors stretching back to before the raising of the Wall. Indeed, the Growlderkin are one of the few families of H'roofa, (or any other Feran for that matter), to keep their heritage so much in mind in this modern age. They live in the past of their great ancestors, living by laws and social codes many thousands of years old. This can make interacting with them rather difficult and even other H'roofa give them their space.

In appearance, the Growlderkin are very impressive. They are generally accepted as the largest of the H'roofa, being nearly the size of a Prit pony or cow. Their fur is a dark azure in color, which allows them to move through the night like shadows. Their paws are well padded and it is said their ability to keep silent is the match of any Felina night prowler. Like all H'roofa the Growlderkin have an extremely keen sense of smell and have been known to follow a Prit scent even after many days of stormy weather has worn away the trace.

But it is for their teeth that they are famous.

A gift from the Emperor long ago the silver teeth of the Growlderkin glittering in the moonlight is frequently the only clue their ancient enemies had of their presence. For it was their duty, in the ancient days before the Wall rose up, to hunt the Were.

All H'roofa hate the Were, but it was the Growlderikin who stepped forward when the Emperor asked for volunteers to fight them. "I shall make your teeth into silver," said the Emperor in that ancient time, "and your bite shall be as death to all the Were, be they of the H'roofa or any other branch of the Feran. But know that silver is a cold metal. It shall make you cold as well." The leader of the Growlderkin pack never hesitated and all of his children in the long ages since have had silver teeth with which to kill the Were.

How long the Growlderkin fought the Were in the ancient world is unknown. Records of the time before the rising of the Wall are scanty and frequently conflicting in nature. But it was long enough for the roots of their duty to sink deep into the Growlderkin H'roofa, for they have never faltered in their obedience to their ancient duty. No child of the Growlderkin, save one, has ever failed to maintain the honor of his ancient pack.

That one is Growlderkin Silvertooth.

Silvertooth was always difficult, even when he was a pup. He head was full of questions and when the teachers grew weary of them even the snapping of their teeth upon his nape was not enough to still him, for the questions would still dance behind his dark eyes. He was a great fighter, and excelled in tracking in stalking. But it was in the classrooms of the scholars that he truly excelled.

Most Growlderkin, (indeed most H'roofa), are not skilled in the ways of scholarship. They are by no means stupid, and they despise the wrongheadedness that ignorance can bring as much as any sensible being would. But the Growlderkin are primal creatures and they believe in knowing one thing perfectly, (the ways of hunting the Were), and have little time for other scholastic pursuits.

Silvertooth was different. He belabored the scholars with his questions until even their wise heads would ring with them. He was rare among the Growlderkin, particularly in his desire to learn how to read. It is said he came close to ruining his eyes, (H'roofa eyes are not made for such things), with his reading until one of his scholars took pity on him and had a pair of manitforma spectacles made for him. The same scholar later provided the pup with a mantiforma contraption that made use of artificial hands to turn the pages, for the scholar was weary of turning the pages himself and the idea of the huge H'roof trying to turn the pages of the scholar's precious books with his paws or tongue was unthinkable.

None of the Growlderkin thought much of the doings of Silvertooth. His actions were not new, just rare in a Growlderkin. It is the nature of pups to ask questions. If Silvertooth asked more than most it was merely the sign of keen mind. A characteristic that would serve him well on the hunt.

They were wrong.

It was on the occasion of Silvertooth's acceptance into his own hunting pack, (his first act as an adult) that they were to find out how wrong they were. It was customary at such a time for the new adult to howl a song. Usually the song would be about some great ancestor of ancient times, or a boastful promise of how the singer would out hunt all his packmates and bring back Pritt prey of a size never before seen in the great circle.

Such was not the song of Silvertooth.

His was a song of condemnation and waste. He sang of a people locked into a useless code that had no purpose. The Were no longer prowled Feran. They went to the far side of the Wall thousands of years ago. The history of the Growlderkin was indeed great, and it should be honored, he sang, but to follow it for thousands of years to no good purpose? Why learn the incredibly difficult fighting techniques of their forefathers for no other reason than to hunt Prit? It was a joke! It is like a Manitforma using a great sword to kill a weed. And what of the fallen? Of those kept from the rite of the hunt because they could not master the difficult practices of the fight? What of his brother who had died here on this ground when a friend's practice bite went wrong? What useless...

But they would hear no more. They howled him down. Such was their anger that they fell on him there in the great circle where they had their howls and teachings since the ancient days. Would they have killed Silvertooth that night? No Feran has killed another save by accident since the raising of the Wall. But the Growlderkin are an old people with long memories. They practice the ways of a world that knew not the peace of this modern age. It is good for all, perhaps, that Silvertooth was so quick. With blood dripping from his pelt in a dozen places, and ear ripped away, and his nose partially crushed by a vicious bite, he fled from the howling mob, disappearing into the night, never to be seen by his kin again.

Later the Growlderkin regretted their actions. They had been surprised by Silvertooth's song and it had pricked at something in all of them, something dark that none of them had looked at before. They looked for Silvertooth to tell him so and followed his scent for many days until it went into the border forests of the Wall.

And then they stopped looking.

The border forest are not forbidden to any, but by ancient custom they are left to the wild Prit. To go there is to leave the world. Silvertooth could not have made his intentions more clear to his kin had he sung them another song.

Growlderkin had left before, of course, for the world is large place and it is the way of the young to want to see it. Occasionally Growlderkin would even join the Paladins of the Wall, though this was not their custom, (their silver jaws were meant for the Were, not the foul Pierna). But never had the pack driven out one of its own before. It was a dark stain upon their honor and their hearts. It was as dark a memory as any of them could recall.

And then it got worse.

A few years later the Growlderkin began to hear rumors, rumors carried from merchant to traveler to merchant again. Rumors from the Northern Baronies.

No Feran has killed Feran since the Wall arose, but the Northern Baronies are not Feran. The Northern Baronies are where the Feran go that cannot live under the laws of the Emperor. As the dark ones went west long ago, so the wild ones go North in this modern age.

Silvertooth had found a use for the skills taught him by his people. He had become a mercenary, spilling the blood of other Feran for pay. He was said to serve a half-breed Mantiforma, a hideous creature with twisted legs, glowing red eyes and fangs longer than any H'roofas. This creature was reported to be a magus and was said to imprison the sprits of he enemies in their own corpses so their animated remains could act as his servants in his great house.

The Growlderkin never mentioned Silvertooth's name again.

And that is the tale of Growlderkin Silvertooth, (though he goes only by Silvertooth in his new occupation). The lost son of an ancient house gone horribly wrong. A soul fallen to darkness.

But things are not always what they seem, and rumors are not always as accurate as we dread them to be. Silvertooth has found his place in this world. And if it is not the place his kin wished for him, it is a place where he can sit easy, free of the howl of his dying brother that kept him so angry for so long. He sits easy upon a high balcony and looks down upon his new world. It is a savage place, but it has its beauty too, as wild things so often do. His gifts are not wasted here and no ancient words determine what his life is to be. Is he happy? No, but he is content.

And that, my Feran, is all.