"The Galestorrer's real name was Stormstar. She lived with her family alone in the high Northen Mountains, further north than most packs. Her father was Thunderfoot, and her mother Tamoara. She also had a brother named Rulgh. They were a happy family. She was very young, only about fifteen or sixteen years, when the rogue wolf came."


Driftwhisper snarled softly, "I will not trouble you with his name, but he was an evil beast. Thunderfoot accepted him, because he believed that he should welcome all who needed aid, like the inhabitants of Redwall Abbey. The rogue, however, planned evil, and one day, catching Thunderfoot alone in the mountains, attacked and slew him. This was soon discovered, and an outraged Rulgh challenged the rogue. A fierce fight ensued, but eventually Rulgh was wounded and driven away. Whether he lived or died is not known. And after that, the rogue took over all of Thunderfoot's belongings, including his wife and daughter."


"Tamoara pined for her lost mate, and eventually died from a broken heart. Stormstor, so far, had merely cowered and tried to avoid thinking of the events happening around her. She spent long periods in the mountains, learning the lay of the surrounding land. The last straw came, however, after her mother's death, when the rogue wolf tried to take her for a mate. She refused instantly, and when he tried to grab her, snatched a nearby dagger and stabbed him in the left eye. The rogue fell back with howls of pain, and she fled then and there, moving rapidly south, with nothing except for the clothes on her back, her quick wits and her great talent for healing. A mountain range stood between her and the more southerly packs, but because of her knowledge of the surrounding lands, Stormstar made it through without mishap."


"Stormstar found herself among other wolf packs and families. Because of her strange accent and strange fur (her breed had pure grey fur, while theirs was lined with golden), they were suspecious of her. Stormstar, too, was shocked by their appearance, because the rogue wolf was of their breed, and they looked somewhat like him. She also found that they argued and squabbled a great deal, unlike her gentle parents, and so the rift between Stormstar and the wolf packs grew, until on no account would they accept her, or she them. True, she helped them a great deal, but good things are never as remembered as the bad, so they did not accept her. She left them alone, and lived by herself, and often she would stand on a rocky crag, the gale in her face, and imagine that she was back in the far, far north, where her home was."


Driftwhisper fell silent. It was a silence that held. Then she raised her head.


"And that was very much the last I heard of Stormstar, though before I left the North to head south, I heard rumours that she was also heading south, in search of a new home. I haven't heard of her since, though, not until now."


Javerleaf stirred. He had barely moved during the story. Now, he uncurled and sat properly, looking at Driftwhisper, "That was a very good story, Driftwhisper. I hope to hear more from you in future."
"Yes," said Grain, "you tell a tale almost as well as I do."
Driftwhisper smiled, "Thank you."
"Well, anyhow," cut in Redrush, "that was a good story, and all good stories make me hungry. Lets get something to eat!"


There was laughter and playful teasing as the others turned on the young fox, and the conversation drifted to other topics. The talk went on for a long while, with Driftwhisper enjoying her new friends. Then, as the moon touched the middle of the sky, the campfires were put out, and Mossflower grew silent and dark.





Ferntra did not know what time it was when she awoke, but she could tell it was very early. The moon was just visible among the treetops. She stirred, and then halted. The fire was nothing more than glowing embers, and there was some beast sitting next to it. Ferntra squinted, and realized that it was Driftwhisper. The wolf was sitting quietly, facing the moon. Was it her imagination, or did a tear just sparkle in Driftwhisper's eye?


The wind blew, ruffling the female wolf's fur. Driftwhisper lifted her head, facing the wind, and Ferntra sensed a strange sadness in her friend. What she saw then, she knew, was not a storyteller, or a healer, but a lonely wolf, one who sat facing the wind, and thinking of a home far, far away, where memories both happy and painful were. A home she might never return to. The wind grew in strength, rustling the trees. Driftwhisper pointed her nose upward and howled, a soft, gentle howl laden with memories and pain. A howl, which spoke of a distant place, a world apart, where the earliest memories of one's life began.

THE END

You are the number person to finish this story.

(Special thanks to Windace Fleetsilver for writing this story and to you for reading it.)

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If you wish to contact the author, you can e-mail her at silverstone40 AT hotmail.com 1