Well, here ya go! Sorry about the lack of "action" in these pages, but I had to upload them from a paint program so that I didn't have to type it all out again! Enjoy!
It always seemed to be summer on the arid planet of Motavia, and the birth of a child in one of the small villages was always a taxing time due to the size of the children and the blistering heat. Hence, the birth of a Motavian was an affair where the whole village lent a hand, especially as births were few and far between. In this case, however, most of the villagers wished they had stayed at home.... The mother was a drifter who the people of Tonoe had taken in, and the father was unknown... To the mother and to all present. When the mother fell into labour, she was in the town square at the time, inducing all present to rush to her aid. Sweat glistened on her fur as she pushed and pushed again, straining through the pain and the heat. The local midwife had been called, and was coaching her through. Dark clouds gathered overhead as the labour entered it's second hour. Those gathered stayed regardless, some aiding the midwife and the rest offering comfort and support to the struggling mother. The town square was filled with the wild screams of the mother, and suddenly, the wild cry of a newborn filled the air - and then the storm broke. The midwife thought immediately that the rain thundering down had gotten into her eyes. This infant, born of a normal, blue-furred Motavian, was white? It's fur was mottled with the mother's blood, but it's large green eyes were open, and it's beak was opening and closing as it cried it's little heart out. The midwife wiped the water from her eyes, and looked again. She then threw the baby to the pavement, cursing at the "demon child". Those gathered around began to scream at the sight of the first albino Motavian born in a thousand years - a traditional Motavian portent of evil, much as the Dark Force was for Palmans. The crazed people took the child, which had survived the attack, and cast it out the front gates of the town, out into the desert and into the rain... The babe awoke in a sloughing pile of silt and mud, as the rain had abated and the desert was beginning to warm up again. The rain had washed all the blood from his fur, and as his eyes saw the blue sky for the first time, he regarded it with disgust - for some irrational reason he hated that colour almost immediately. Finding himself alone, with none to call mother or to call anything, for that matter, his dim brain decided to do something, anything. He struggled to his feet, shaking and shivering on the untried legs. After stumbling around for a few minutes, the infant stood straight, and headed for the nearby shade of a small oasis, and the future that lay beyond it... Even for an infant Motavian, walking was a strain. For a baby that was only a few hours old it was a nightmare. Before he could even make it to the enticing treeline, the baby had fallen to the ground and began to cry, and it's cries echoed out over the vast desert and into the dense forest... A patrolling Flarewulf passed underneath the foliage, it's supple white fur flashing in the small patches of sunlight. In search of food, the Flarewulf instead picked up the cries of the Motavian on the wind and bounded off to investigate. The baby was easy to spot on the desert plains, it's brilliant white fur standing out like a beacon on the muted yellows of the sand, and recognising only the colour of its fur, the Flarewulf took it to be one of its own kind. It sensed the baby's hopelessness and despair and lowered its head, picking the baby up gently between its teeth, and then bounding off into the forest... Growing up under the care of a Flarewulf was a strange thing for the little Motavian - his instinct told WhiteShadow that it wasn't right, but for the next four years he learnt to hunt, scavenge and escape from the many predators that inhabited the wilds. It seemed to be a daily event, as the Flarewulf family had to flee from an enemy it knew by instinct it couldn't beat, and ant the end of everyday WhiteShadow returned to the family's resting place and collapsed into a deep sleep, his legs aching day after day. But, as time passed, the feeling that something more was out there grew within the 5 year old. Through the years of hard running he had gained phenomenal foot speed, and the reflexes of his canine family. Although not given the heightened senses of his kin, he could still hunt using the scent of the creature he was looking for... And he also now felt, that with his learned speed and senses, and with his natural born Motavian strength, he could strike out on his own, away from the pack. Now this may seem strange to we humans but the Motavians have always been a tough breed - born with the capacity to survive in the heat of the deserts of Mota the Motavians had to learn to survive at a young age or perish... Unfortunately, WhiteShadow still hadn't learned the ways of civilisation, and his grunts and growls when attempting to communicate didn't help when he stumbled across towns; and his abnormal white fur caused the people, whether Palman (human) or Motavian to fear this one, although still just a child.
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