Moscow had been wandering about his parents packlands. A spring in his step. He always seamed to be following around a strange wind that loomed about him. He stopped and paused and so did the breeze. He cocked his head at it and it seamed to dance in trees biding him to play. He didn't know what it was at the moment that drove this strange fouce out of him- but he liked it. It made up for him not being mean like Rumor. Or having his mothers 'balls' to put it. It made Moscow who he was. Special.

Again he started to dash threw the woods towards the border of the packs lands. Following the strange winds that loomed above him.