In the center of one of Montreal's national parks, all but deserted, a pile of frost covered leaves shifted, and a tiny boy with blonde hair sat up, and blinked his purple eyes. In the tree above him, a snowy owl snapped awake and swooped down to his side. For a moment the bird and the boy stared at each other. Then, the bird spoke, ruffling it's white feathers. "Quoi?" The question hung on the air for a moment, before the boy stood up, confidently brushing the leaves and snow from his blue vest, his single fleur-de-lis earing catching the light from a nearby park lamp and glinting. Finally, the boy responded, voice dripping with arrogance. "J'mapelle Québec."