#Lone Wolf

It all started on a moonlit night 17 years ago.

With the full moon high in the sky, the mother wolf stepped quietly through the snow, paws making tiny indentations on the snowy cold ground. She deftly avoided the snap of twigs underfoot as she made her way towards the curious abandoned basket lying in the middle of the glen. Softly, swiftly, but surely, she walked up behind. Then, after a careful sniff, she moved around to the front. What at sight met her eyes! . . .

The boy from the basket grew up a little bit like Mowgli did, living along with his canine brethren on the wild plains of the tundra. The aurora glinted overhead in the sky each night, sending wild, magical curtains of light overhead. He imagined that they were like waterfalls of color, rushing down over the sky like a might river heading to the ocean. When he sat out on some nights, the overwhelming silence came over him like a blanket.

Years passed. He grew, and soon it became clear that he was quite different from the wolves. For one thing, he had never fully grown accustomed to the taste of caribou, and he always felt a bit awkward when marking his territory. By the age of 13, it was decided that he was too old to stay with the pack. It was time to leave.

His wolf mother walked with him for many miles, until they reached a river one hundred feet wide. Her kind had never dared cross it, for the rapids were too strong. But the boy used some logs to build a makeshift bridge. Before he crossed all the way, he turned back to the bank and looked at his mother one last time. Her eyes were baleful, shimmering in the moonlight - moonlight just like the one that had brought them together years before.

Then he turned, and walked into the world of man. Three years later, he met Stack Exchange.

This story is, of course, one giant metaphor. While I, the protagonist of the story, was never raised by wolves, I was raised by humans - humans who didn't use the internet much. At the age of 13, I began doing more research for projects online. Two years ago, I met Stack Exchange.

I'd like a Towel, to remind me of those cold nights on the Arctic Tundra. Preferably from Worldbuilding.

^{Context: A message in chat from Shog9.}

Lone Wolf

It all started on a moonlit night 17 years ago.

With the full moon high in the sky, the mother wolf stepped quietly through the snow, paws making tiny indentations on the snowy cold ground. She deftly avoided the snap of twigs underfoot as she made her way towards the curious abandoned basket lying in the middle of the glen. Softly, swiftly, but surely, she walked up behind. Then, after a careful sniff, she moved around to the front. What at sight met her eyes! . . .

The boy from the basket grew up a little bit like Mowgli did, living along with his canine brethren on the wild plains of the tundra. The aurora glinted overhead in the sky each night, sending wild, magical curtains of light overhead. He imagined that they were like waterfalls of color, rushing down over the sky like a might river heading to the ocean. When he sat out on some nights, the overwhelming silence came over him like a blanket.

Years passed. He grew, and soon it became clear that he was quite different from the wolves. For one thing, he had never fully grown accustomed to the taste of caribou, and he always felt a bit awkward when marking his territory. By the age of 13, it was decided that he was too old to stay with the pack. It was time to leave.

His wolf mother walked with him for many miles, until they reached a river one hundred feet wide. Her kind had never dared cross it, for the rapids were too strong. But the boy used some logs to build a makeshift bridge. Before he crossed all the way, he turned back to the bank and looked at his mother one last time. Her eyes were baleful, shimmering in the moonlight - moonlight just like the one that had brought them together years before.

Then he turned, and walked into the world of man. Three years later, he met Stack Exchange.

This story is, of course, one giant metaphor. While I, the protagonist of the story, was never raised by wolves, I was raised by humans - humans who didn't use the internet much. At the age of 13, I began doing more research for projects online. Two years ago, I met Stack Exchange.

I'd like a Towel, to remind me of those cold nights on the Arctic Tundra. Preferably from Worldbuilding.

^{Context: A message in chat from Shog9.}

It all started on a moonlit night 17 years ago.

With the full moon high in the sky, the mother wolf stepped quietly through the snow, paws making tiny indentations on the snowy cold ground. She deftly avoided the snap of twigs underfoot as she made her way towards the curious abandoned basket lying in the middle of the glen. Softly, swiftly, but surely, she walked up behind. Then, after a careful sniff, she moved around to the front. What at sight met her eyes! . . .

The boy from the basket grew up a little bit like Mowgli did, living along with his canine brethren on the wild plains of the tundra. The aurora glinted overhead in the sky each night, sending wild, magical curtains of light overhead. He imagined that they were like waterfalls of color, rushing down over the sky like a might river heading to the ocean. When he sat out on some nights, the overwhelming silence came over him like a blanket.

Years passed. He grew, and soon it became clear that he was quite different from the wolves. For one thing, he had never fully grown accustomed to the taste of caribou, and he always felt a bit awkward when marking his territory. By the age of 13, it was decided that he was too old to stay with the pack. It was time to leave.

His wolf mother walked with him for many miles, until they reached a river one hundred feet wide. Her kind had never dared cross it, for the rapids were too strong. But the boy used some logs to build a makeshift bridge. Before he crossed all the way, he turned back to the bank and looked at his mother one last time. Her eyes were baleful, shimmering in the moonlight - moonlight just like the one that had brought them together years before.

Then he turned, and walked into the world of man. Three years later, he met Stack Exchange.

This story is, of course, one giant metaphor. While I, the protagonist of the story, was never raised by wolves, I was raised by humans - humans who didn't use the internet much. At the age of 13, I began doing more research for projects online. Two years ago, I met Stack Exchange.

I'd like a Towel, to remind me of those cold nights on the Arctic Tundra. Preferably from Worldbuilding.

^{Context: A message in chat from Shog9.}

#Lone Wolf

It all started on a moonlit night 17 years ago.

With the full moon high in the sky, the mother wolf stepped quietly through the snow, paws making tiny indentations on the snowy cold ground. She deftly avoided the snap of twigs underfoot as she made her way towards the curious abandoned basket lying in the middle of the glen. Softly, swiftly, but surely, she walked up behind. Then, after a careful sniff, she moved around to the front. What at sight met her eyes! . . .

The boy from the basket grew up a little bit like Mowgli did, living along with his canine brethren on the wild plains of the tundra. The aurora glinted overhead in the sky each night, sending wild, magical curtains of light overhead. He imagined that they were like waterfalls of color, rushing down over the sky like a might river heading to the ocean. When he sat out on some nights, the overwhelming silence came over him like a blanket.

Years passed. He grew, and soon it became clear that he was quite different from the wolves. For one thing, he had never fully grown accustomed to the taste of caribou, and he always felt a bit awkward when marking his territory. By the age of 13, it was decided that he was too old to stay with the pack. It was time to leave.

His wolf mother walked with him for many miles, until they reached a river one hundred feet wide. Her kind had never dared cross it, for the rapids were too strong. But the boy used some logs to build a makeshift bridge. Before he crossed all the way, he turned back to the bank and looked at his mother one last time. Her eyes were baleful, shimmering in the moonlight - moonlight just like the one that had brought them together years before.

Then he turned, and walked into the world of man. Three years later, he met Stack Exchange.

This story is, of course, one giant metaphor. While I, the protagonist of the story, was never raised by wolves, I was raised by humans - humans who didn't use the internet much. At the age of 13, I began doing more research for projects online. Two years ago, I met Stack Exchange.

I'd like a Towel, to remind me of those cold nights on the Arctic Tundra. Preferably from Worldbuilding.

^{Context: A message in chat from Shog9.}

It all started on a moonlit night 17 years ago.

With the full moon high in the sky, the mother wolf stepped quietly through the snow, paws making tiny indentations on the snowy cold ground. She deftly avoided the snap of twigs underfoot as she made her way towards the curious abandoned basket lying in the middle of the glen. Softly, swiftly, but surely, she walked up behind. Then, after a careful sniff, she moved around to the front. What at sight met her eyes! . . .

The boy from the basket grew up a little bit like Mowgli did, living along with his canine brethren on the wild plains of the tundra. The aurora glinted overhead in the sky each night, sending wild, magical curtains of light overhead. He imagined that they were like waterfalls of color, rushing down over the sky like a might river heading to the ocean. When he sat out on some nights, the overwhelming silence came over him like a blanket.

Years passed. He grew, and soon it became clear that he was quite different from the wolves. For one thing, he had never fully grown accustomed to the taste of caribou, and he always felt a bit awkward when marking his territory. By the age of 13, it was decided that he was too old to stay with the pack. It was time to leave.

His wolf mother walked with him for many miles, until they reached a river one hundred feet wide. Her kind had never dared cross it, for the rapids were too strong. But the boy used some logs to build a makeshift bridge. Before he crossed all the way, he turned back to the bank and looked at his mother one last time. Her eyes were baleful, shimmering in the moonlight - moonlight just like the one that had brought them together years before.

Then he turned, and walked into the world of man. Three years later, he met Stack Exchange.

This story is, of course, one giant metaphor. While I, the protagonist of the story, was never raised by wolves, I was raised by humans - humans who didn't use the internet much. At the age of 13, I began doing more research for projects online. Two years ago, I met Stack Exchange.

I'd like a Towel, to remind me of those cold nights on the Arctic Tundra. Preferably from Worldbuilding.

^{Context: A in chat from Shog9.}

It all started on a moonlit night 17 years ago.

With the full moon high in the sky, the mother wolf stepped quietly through the snow, paws making tiny indentations on the snowy cold ground. She deftly avoided the snap of twigs underfoot as she made her way towards the curious abandoned basket lying in the middle of the glen. Softly, swiftly, but surely, she walked up behind. Then, after a careful sniff, she moved around to the front. What at sight met her eyes! . . .

The boy from the basket grew up a little bit like Mowgli did, living along with his canine brethren on the wild plains of the tundra. The aurora glinted overhead in the sky each night, sending wild, magical curtains of light overhead. He imagined that they were like waterfalls of color, rushing down over the sky like a might river heading to the ocean. When he sat out on some nights, the overwhelming silence came over him like a blanket.

Years passed. He grew, and soon it became clear that he was quite different from the wolves. For one thing, he had never fully grown accustomed to the taste of caribou, and he always felt a bit awkward when marking his territory. By the age of 13, it was decided that he was too old to stay with the pack. It was time to leave.

His wolf mother walked with him for many miles, until they reached a river one hundred feet wide. Her kind had never dared cross it, for the rapids were too strong. But the boy used some logs to build a makeshift bridge. Before he crossed all the way, he turned back to the bank and looked at his mother one last time. Her eyes were baleful, shimmering in the moonlight - moonlight just like the one that had brought them together years before.

Then he turned, and walked into the world of man. Three years later, he met Stack Exchange.

This story is, of course, one giant metaphor. While I, the protagonist of the story, was never raised by wolves, I was raised by humans - humans who didn't use the internet much. At the age of 13, I began doing more research for projects online. Two years ago, I met Stack Exchange.

I'd like a Towel, to remind me of those cold nights on the Arctic Tundra. Preferably from Worldbuilding.

^{Context: A message in chat from Shog9.}