On a relatively cold day in Terror Mountain, I was born.
And unlike the life I live now, free from scorn.
To two very loving parents, with eggmates too.
My mother was caring, loving, beautiful and blue.
And my father was the same, but a lovely deep red.
In Bruces, feather colors do not blend, so I inherited my father's feathers instead.
My parents adored me very much, and gave me the name of Brice.
This was a reminder of our species, and here on Terror Mountain, of the prosperity-giving ice.
Once I molted enough, my parents would take me out to show me the lands.
From the coldest reaches of home, to the far and dusty desert sands.
When I grew strong enough, I was taught the art of ice fishing.
I was quite skilled in this, and to fame in the area I would come, is what I spent my days wishing.
Among my people, I had known many, and some were even a good friend.
Of course, living in Terror Mountain, I had many kin.
Among both friends and kin, we would often go out to ice skate our young lives away.
All was good fun and joy and laughter, and friendly love and care filled each and every day.
The was the season which never ended, until the story of my life's tragedy began.
On the night of a blizzard that stuck Terror Mountain, to me whom one of my friends ran.
They screamed and cried that my parents went out into the storm to get wood for a fire.
They were not back in the usual amount of time, and this situation was dire.
I later found out that my parents were dead, eaten by a wild Lupe.
With this news, began the turning point of my life that would take me down a deep dark stoop.