Name: Winona Newton

Tulnoria had the lowest crime rate in the galaxy. This was primarily because of how few crimes were illegal. The monarchy had an interesting approach to maintaining power. As long as a Tulnorian pledged fealty to the crown, they were free to do whatever else they pleased.

Winona Newton's first experience with this unique form of governance was soon after learning to walk when she was cubnapped. Mrs. and Mr. Newton went to the police and begged for help to retrieve their daughter, but they didn't care because Winona was not government property.

Her captor family helped this young cub decide her career before she even learned to speak by putting her in a thief apprenticeship. She took to her training quickly and soon was earning a great deal. Tulorians may be primarily criminals, but they are warm-hearted. They treated her well, and besides an occasional nightmare filled with forgotten faces searching for her, she was a happy bear.

That changed one day when a thing she stole belonged to a third cousin twice removed of a minor duke. The police force that hadn't batted an eye when she was taken from her home was up in force over the painting that was taken from one of theirs.

The out-of-practice police were no match for her, and she disappeared before they even found her. Escaping Tulnoria was easy, though surviving anywhere else would be another question. Her first stop as a fugitive of the "law" was in Onduna, where she prepared to test her luck near the spaceport.

She felt in luck when she soon found what looked like significant robotic parts lying in a pile of feathers. She climbed over a pile of large strangely moist tubes to grab it before that pile came alive and was wrapped around her. Her skin, and brain, tingled in its warm tight grip.

"Finally, I've done it. I've caught a dream in my arms." The pile said in slow glee.

"I'm not a dream," Winona answered.

"Maybe they work for the prophet, and they are here to stop me from stopping them. This is bad." The robotic parts had risen with the pile of feathers and a brrrrr as what she worried were weapons powered on.

"Maybe you don't know you are a dream," her enveloper said to her before turning to the agitated weapon. "And maybe she's like me, along for the ride."

"I see that as a possible possibility. Are you here to join me on my mission to kill the prophet?" The weapons were now fully armed and pointed right at her.

She answered immediately and deliberately. "Yes, definitely. I also hate the mophet."