The meteor shower had been one for the Ages to speak of years later. As the moon set that very early ice-cold morning, an explosion-like sound tore through the forest and awoke the Tipisk Clan rudely. Black-furred shapes emerged from their wigwams, muzzles turned skyward while the rich otherworldly light of the Aurora Borealis danced in its hues of green, silver and purple overhead.

The streamers of white-hot light only then began to rain down in numbers that had not been seen in many lifetimes.

The darkness was set alight, not only by the Aurora and the star-storm, but soon too by the bonfires of the Tipisk as shaman leaders rallied the people of the many villages spontaneously into ritualistic dances of celebration and worship. As the sun rose in a rich blood red over the horizon hours later, the fires still burned and the wolves continued their ceremonies until the last of them could no longer stay on their feet; drunk on the sweet chokecherry wine laced specially with the White Metal so sacred to the Clan, exhausted from their rituals and falling one by one like cord wood into deep vision-rich sleep that lasted all of the waking day.

But with the star-storm came work and duty to the Gods-given purpose of the Tipisk. So, as the moon began to rise on the night after, warriors were banded into parties as they awoke and soon set out (en-masse) from each village to search for the landing sites of each sacred black rock that had fallen. With the intensity of the previous night's events, there would undoubtedly be hundreds to collect and then process for the precious White Metal they contain; gifts from the Aurora Gods, a means to share their power and responsibility for keeping the order of the world around them.

But, as the night wore on, many of the craters and scorched stands of spruce and pine yielded little more than obsidian glass and ash. The traditional rocks were absent, the search parties coming up empty in their hunt and left to look at each other with puzzled expressions as well as confusion. Where had the meteorites gone? Had they already been collected by some other tribe? Was this a test by the Aurora Gods, to see if the Tipisk were still loyal to them in the absence of their traditional rewards for faith? The dancing lights above offered no answers to these questions or any other, and so the parties began to break up and return to their wigwams as the icy fog of the morning dew began to collect around the forest floor.

--

Phiko Misit and the four other members of his party stopped short of the village edge and conversed with a sentry guard for a moment, all involved still exhausted from the dancing and then the hunting despite having slept all day. Reports of coming up empty-pawed were exchanged before the sentry begun to gather up a fistfull of smooth sticks of seemingly matching length, then offering each wolf to draw one. As Phiko drew his, a contorted snarl wrinkled across his muzzle; it was clear in an instant his was dramatically shorter than the rest. The male had just gained the wonderful duty of standing sentry himself for the rest of the night, relieving the guard who now smirked and lightly tossed him the spear he'd been holding for the task. A few short words of jest and cursing later, Phiko was left watching his compatriots stroll into camp and disappear behind the dark brown leather doorflaps of their wigwams for some much-needed rest.

Stewing from his misfortune, Phiko Misit glanced up through the tree canopy toward the overhanging rock formation that dominated one side of his ancestral village edge. Old stories of the caves and crevices that filled the mighty spire of granite drifted through his mind as he leaned against a tree trunk... breath drifting from his nostrils in foggy clouds as his bare chest rose and fell. Even as the temperatures dropped below freezing, the wolf wore nothing more than his narrow leather breechcloth and leggings for attire; various accoutrements such as armbands, pouches and necklaces decorated him as well, but the thick black double-coat of fur was more than enough to keep the warrior comfortable in such situations. Indeed, clothing for the Tipisk was more for ceremonial modesty and practical protection from things like brush and brambles than for warmth.

And then the notion struck him. That first thunderclap from the night before had sounded incredibly close, so maybe there was a much larger meteorite that had fallen and landed before anyone really had awoken, the rest all being too small to survive the fall around its bigger forebearer? The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that there was one place no one had looked yet... and he watched transfixed at the summit of the rock mountain as he suddenly knew where that location may be.

The wolf glanced around to the two other sentries tasked at guarding the village, finding one fast asleep at the foot of a tree and another looking longingly back at his wigwam undoubtedly dreaming of the bedroll inside. His mind made up, he quietly stole away and disappeared into the forest; black swallowing black.

–

It was nearly sunrise when Phiko Misit found the first signs that something had indeed crashed into the mountain. Half-way up were pieces of scorched rock, still smelling strongly of the fire that had embraced them, and his pace quickened as bare footpads as hard as boiled leather and tough as the rock they tread across propelled the wolf further up the trail. His nose flared with the scent of smoke, more and more destruction being found the closer he came to the crash site, until suddenly the crater presented itself. It was massive! Easily 100 paces across, and at its very center sat the strangest Aurora rock the warrior had ever seen: like an arrowhead, it was shaped, polished to a glass-like shine and colored white like fresh-fallen snow. Even more unusual still was there was no way to know how deep the crater was, as it only sunk about chest-deep before being filled with a flat-calm lake of liquid silver. Not even a breeze would cause a ripple to cast across the basin, and Phiko approached slow and nervously with his spear at the ready.

Patiently he watched, searching around and seeing no life. Nothing moved, and no sound but the beating of his heart and the breath whistling through his nose was heard. He worked up enough gumption to approach the edge, look down, and see his reflection. The speartip was dipped in, then rapidly jerked out and held for another strike... Yet nothing happened, the liquid metal dripping from the spearhead as if it were nothing other than oddly-colored water. Puzzled, he then kneeled, sniffing keenly and getting a noseful of sharp metallic scents... Was this refined Aurora metal he was looking at, somehow cold and still liquid instead of turned solid like the rings of it he wore in various piercings?

He dipped a hand down, gently easing a fingertip in... The material was invitingly warm, like a hotspring pool that was just right, and soon he pushed the rest of his hand below the surface and drew it back out again to curiously watch as every detail and shape of his paw was cast in brilliant metal, slowly dripping down over his forearm and making his fur reflective. After a time of enjoyment, he slid around and sat on the edge to dip his feet in as well, still watching the silver on his hand to see if it would dry or remain wet. And so, with his spear sitting beside him, this is how the wolf was seen a moment before unexpectedly disappearing in a loud splash. Not a sound of surprise or alarm being raised, no chance for intervention being offered and no rescuer on standby to thrust the spear into the pool for a handhold to grab and pull oneself back out. The pool bubbled as its prey struggled below, unseen and unheard, but it was not long until that smooth unbroken surface returned with no indication of what had happened.

–

The moon rose like a silver disk in the sky to mirror the same silver pool on the ground. At that pool's center sat a white oblong shape, blemishless and perfectly intact. Nothing moved, and nothing was to be heard as the cold quiet of the night set in once again. Yet as the shimmering light of the Aurora Borealis reflected off its surface, symmetrical lines appeared. Like a blossom of an alien flower opening, the pod opened slowly and revealed a dark interior. In the dim light, serpentine shapes writhed and the soft subdued whirr and whines of mechanical locomotion were unleashed. As the petals pulled further apart, contained within the interior was revealed to be an anthropomorphic lupine figure, head cast down and arms held loosely at his sides. One by one, cables begin to withdraw from ports along his form, clicks and hisses of pneumatic valves closing marking each detachment. Black latex eyelids rolled back and backlit red optics flashed to life, the male figure moving as systems started up. His head rolled upright, ears spinning and perking to attention. Higher from the pod he rose, propelled upward as the petals at last reached their fully extended positions.

And there he stood for what seemed like forever, thoughts consolidating as he booted, facts and graphical data scrolling across his vision while silently inside that synthetic skull a history lesson was being taught. Phiko Misit was alive, intact where mind and personality were concerned. Yet he was not alone, the symbiotic intelligence from the crashed ship bonding and calibrating herself to the new host she had acquired. The two were now one; the female AI having transformed and assimilated the warrior wolf Tipisk into a machine for her needs and rewarding his sacrifice with his memories and mind unaltered.

At once, he broke from his trance and begin to stare down at himself. A hand was brought up, fingers curling one by one into a fist as he watched, muzzle held agape astounded. Questions were asked and answered between the two through digital conversation. The wolf glanced up, seeing his lost spear still resting at the crater's edge and knowing what he must do now. A foot rose out of the pod and stepped onto the smooth silver pool; the surface hard beneath his textured latex rubber pads while metal claws clacked neatly against it. The other followed, and the now robot Native walked smoothly over to retrieve it. Kneeling down and placing a hand on his thigh, he looks down the path he'd come up. The others of his tribe would be looking for him, undoubtedly. It was time to return home and show them what he'd become... What they too would become in time.

–

The meteor shower had been one for the Ages to speak of year later...