Whitestorm groaned as his head was filled his pain. He opened his eyes and found himself flat on his back on a well-manicured lawn with some flowering trees. He sat up abruptly, trying to remember why he was there. Nothing. All he knew was that his name was Whitestorm and he was utterly and completely lost. He lifted a hand to his face and tested his fingers, curling them up in fascination. He heard a noise and saw a Twoleg girl, not a child but not a fully-grown either.

"Hello!" Whitestorm said brightly in greeting, standing up on shaky legs.

"Augh! Oh! God!" The girl cried, shielding her hand in front of her face.

"Don't tell me I'm really that ugly." Whitestorm joked.

"God, can't you put some clothes on? Do you just lay around naked in people's lawns a lot?" The girl shrieked, still covering her eyes.

"Depends. What are clothes?" Whitestorm asked innocently, his yellow eyes bright.

"These!" The girl resisted a bubble of hysteria and grabbed madly at the front of her shirt.

"Those pelts you wear? Whatever for? Sun protection?" Whitestorm looked confused.

"I'll go get you some of my brother's clothes. Wait here." The girl ran back, and Whitestorm sat down, looking at the Twoleg den she was disappearing into. He looked down at himself and realized he was tall and had two legs, just like her. Why, he must be a Twoleg! The girl came back out, holding a roll of pelts in her hands. She thrust them at Whitestorm, still shielding her eyes. He took them at stared at them, shaking them out. He glanced at the girl and back at the pelt he assumed went over the torso. He tried pulling it over his head and succeeded, surprisingly. The pelt was a little big for his skinny frame, but it would do. He grabbed at the other pelt, a rectangular pelt with two long flaps at the end. Hmm… He looked back at the girl. Oh, yes. He shoved his legs down into the flaps and hiked it up so it stopped at his waist. The girl took a cautious look at him through her hands and dropped them.

"Good." She looked relieved. She gave him a long look. He had very pale skin, almost snow-white, and hair that matched but could pass for really bleached blonde. His eyes, however, were a stunning golden-yellow. "Do you wear contacts?" She asked timidly.

"Huh?" He tilted his head.

"Never mind. Are you homeless or something?" She asked.

"I don't think so." He pondered that. "I actually don't remember much of anything." He finally said, still smiling. The girl frowned.

"Well, you could crash at my place until you remember stuff. So, random-stranger-who-sleeps-in-my-backyard, what's your name?" She asked.

"I'm Whitestorm" He said brightly, holding out a very pale white hand. The girl cautiously shook.

"Yeah, we'll tell my parents your name is John or something. John Whitestorm." She said after a pause. "And you're like, some tribal exchange person." She said, eyeing his strange yellow eyes and his scruffy pale hair, along with the fact that his shirt was inside out and his jeans were put on backwards.

"Oh, a tribe? Like the Tribe of Rushing Water? I'm good friends with them, you see." Whitestorm chirped, suddenly remembering.

"Sure, something like that." The girl said slowly. "How old are you, Whitestorm?" She asked him.

"I'm not sure." He said, puzzled. She shrugged.

"You look about the same age as me, I s'pose. Anyway, are you hungry?" She asked. "My parents are making dinner right now." She added.

"I think I'm hungry, yes." He said. His stomach let out a sad-sounding whimper, and Lily laughed in relief.

"Ok, c'mon. Remember, your name is John Whitestorm and you're an exchange student at my school." She flicked a strand of light brown hair from her eyes. Whitestorm nodded, even though he didn't know what a school was. Lily led him into her house and through the den-opening, where two fully-grown Twolegs were standing at boxy shiny silver appliances and messing with some smelly brightly colored objects.

"Mom, this is John Whitestorm. He's a new kid at our school, and he was from some strange tribe before they relocated him with a foster family." She said. She leaned closer to her parents and whispered, "He's also not very civilized." She winced and quickly glanced back at Whitestorm, but he was studying a framed painting that hung on the wall.

"Berry juice." He was mumbling, tracing a finger along the raspberry-colored paint.

"Is it okay if he stays with us for a while? His foster family is pretty awful." Lily pleaded. Her mom closed her eyes and sighed.

"Honey, you can't take in every stray you find. We already have two turtles, a cat that lives in the barn, and three baby bunnies." Her mother said quietly.

"He is not an animal, mom!" She said, but as her mom looked over all she saw was Whitestorm licking at a spot of dirt on his hand.

"John, you use a towel for that." Lily said hastily, guiding the pale-skinned boy over to the sink and turning the water on for him. He stared at the water, before his tongue slowly poked out and he lowered his head…

"No, Whitestor-John!" She said hastily, pulling him back. She grabbed the towel, wetted it, and wiped the dirt off his hand like he was a child. Her cheeks rose with color as her mom slowly shook her head.

"Do you like green bean casserole, John?" Her mother finally asked, looking rather tired.

"Never had it before." Whitestorm said brightly. "I do enjoy mice, though." He smiled warmly.

"He's kidding." Lily said hastily, and Whitestorm looked bewildered, his mouth opening to rebuke her statement.

"How about we go upstairs and wait for dinner, John? Hmm?" Lily grinned forcedly and shoved him over to the stairs landing. He looked at the stairs, then back at Lily.

"Oh, for God's sake." She moaned.