I was brought up in the far north. I had two brothers and a twin sister along with many friends. My parents were the leaders of a clan of black foxes up there. We would often raid our neighbours, a band of mice led my a mouse called Topkith, or something like that. We would raid them each summer, when they had just finished gathering their corn.
Occasionally we'd go further afield, and gain richer plunder.
My brothers once fought over a bronze axe. and killed eachother. I was only young at the time, so I can't remember too well what happened.
Anyway, we lived there for a great many years, and I grew up to be, surprisingly, the blackest furred fox in the clan. I also stood out because of my pale eyes. But one year we were attacked by a family army of northern wolves. They slaughtered us, for we were unprepared and it was coming into winter in a bad year for food.
They left behind the smoking ruins of my home, along with a dying father and a dead mother, Krast the Sly, and a dead twin sister, Krad. (I was named after my mother, assassin being added later.) They took many slaves, but I feigned dead, so they left me.
I was terribly wounded but alive. After several weeks I felt better, eating trampled bread and drinking snow in the freezing cold. When I was strong enough I rigged a shelter and spent the winter half starved there.
When Spring came I set of south, seeking revenge on the wolves.
Ever since then I have travelled south, searching for my own kind. Several times I was caught by goodbeasts, but each time I managed to escape.
Finally I joined a ship full of weasels and one fox. They sailed here and showed me this place. I stayed here, and I have not moved yet.
But I have started a quest for those wolves, in which I WILL succeed....