It is not where we come from or the family we claim. It is the things that we do that bring honor or shame.

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It was a dark night in the high hills of the north. Winter had come early to the small village that clung to the steep mountain slopes. The town's occupants were huddled close to their meager fires in a futile attempt to defy the elements when, out of the dark, a sound was heard as it faded in and out with the gusting wind. It was not the wind that screamed, as some thought, nor was it a scream of some creature, as others supposed. It was the scream of a woman that tore the night in the town of Hendelson. In the silence after the scream, a new noise was heard, no actually there were two new sounds, one was the soft crying of a baby boy and the other the cooing of a baby girl. 

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