Ze'ev Zariz, dressed in ill-fitting rags and sitting quietly in a corner of a tavern in New Haven, concentrated his mind. Without a mount, and disoriented in this place of strangers with strange ways, he felt stranded. He was vulnerable to the sly talk of the White Eyes, who took his bow and quiver and what little gold he had and plied him with drink, hoping to make him dependent upon them and perhaps enlist him as a mercenary in the defense of their town. But Ze'ev retained his core strength, and through the haze in his mind, he knew he must resist their offers. He knew the promise of gold held no attraction for him, and the drink only sickened him. He knew he did not belong here but did not know where he should be. Ze'ev Zariz sat there and concentrated his mind, sought the currents in the wind that might carry his longing for a home to ears that could hear. Wolf Mother heard in the wind tales of a lost tribesman, a young man skilled in archery but luckless with horses. She came to him and offered him a new life, of a tradition unknown to him but strangely familiar. He saw her before him, a frightening apparition, surely more than a little mad, but instantly knew her to be kin, felt a bond he had never known before. He was quick to reject the yoke of the vehoe and take up the bow and arrow and resume a traditional way of life in the native village as a Hunter.