This is a true story. It happened to me before I came to Fort Nightshade. I was born and raised in a roving band of ferrets. There were forty-two clanbeasts. We were like a clan of Juska, we believed in omens, and our faces were painted with the clan simbol, a black dot with a red diamond drawn around it. Our clan had a stange accent. My grandfather's brother was the clan leader.

Adders were only just short of sacred. We admired them, and we were given names like Fangclaw, or Deathstrike. That shows why my name is Deathfang. One night we were crouched around a huge bonfire. Our seer, who was, in fact, a ferret and not a vixen, told us that on the morrow we would wake to an event that would change our existance.
"Th'leet be fer better 'r f'worse?" I asked her in our strange accent. "Oct, eet ma be fer better, or f'worse, Ah don't know," she replied.
"Vot do der omens tell ye?" I asked. "Nottink," replied the seer. "Dey on'y tell me dat somtink vill 'appen de next day."

The next morning the tribe was attacked by adders. Only eight of us survived, one of wich was me. I got away without a scratch. I forced the other seven ferrets to obey me. It felt good, being a leader. I traveled south for a season. My ferrets took order from me without question. But one day, they deserted me. I trekked alone, until I came to Fort Nightshade