Prolog

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Quarral looked down on his old twoleg home for the last time. The wind ruffled his pelt and his eyes shine with longing to be free. He listened to the jingling of his bell. Quarral had heard the story of the clans many of times and he knew that if he kept his collar on he would not be accepted with the clan. He shook his head and the collar, which was too big for his kit sized head, slid off. He was ready to join a clan.

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