When I was young, very young, it was my mother who took care of me. She taught me to walk, or so she tells me, and she was the one that infomed my early actions. But, as I grew older, my father’s frustration changed how it was our family functioned. Understandably, what he wanted was a pupil. He would talk about this, and about hunting over many afternoons. It was because of him that I learned of my unusual nature.
I was awakened at the beginning of the dawn by my father’s hand on my head. My eyes opened and I looked around. He said with his eyes that I should remain quiet. I followed him out of our home and towards the community pit. I watched my father’s face as we went. He kept it flat; emotionless. We were the second group there.