Moy’s first moons were filled with the warmth and structure that would prepare her for the rest of her life. She preened at Liffey’s favor, blossoming into a promising prince, but she never quite fit her mother's mold. Adolescence brought with it nervous rebellion; she stood up for her sisters' right to self-determination and pressured her brothers to do the same.

Moy was well into her second summer when she realized the root of her unrest. Torn between her ambition and the call of sisterhood, she chose both without hesitation. Emboldened by her siblings’ quiet support, confrontation was inevitable. Liffey had raised a girl prince destined to be a woman king; if Moy’s sisters were meant to be wives and mothers, what about her?

Liffey brushed off the truth like dirt stuck to her fur, changing the subject as if Moy had said nothing at all. Her resolve buckled in the wake of her mother’s stubbornness and self-deception; if it wasn't for Rannoch she would have left that night.

Moy bided her time until she was as broad as her father, then bid her parents farewell. She promised to return when she became a woman king — the first part ignored by her mother, as always.