It is not often that Pan finds himself on this side of Moladion, nor that he finds himself alone, especially at night. Not since his journey to Scotavia as a pup all those years ago, with Seven at his side, had the golden male been inclined to wander alone in the dark. After all, he has heard the tales and the stories, has fascinated himself with them since his earliest days and yet it is only now, at nearly full growth, that the powerful boy has felt inclined and confident enough to venture alone. From what he has come to understand, the ones known as Demons do not plague this side of the crater, no, the East was Angel territory and yet the golden child, his pelt aglow even within the dark of the night finds himself drawn with inexplicable desire to discover either one or the other. The Demons sound truly nightmarish and yet he finds that surely much of the story is fiction, not fact- one with a mind so like his own, a boy so far gifted beyond the normal range is inclined to believe only what he finds deamable through a measure of intelligent speculation. He does not believe Demons are soulless or incapable of affection, that is not possible, as a species they were inclined to such a thing, yet, by the same token he does not believe the Angels possess wings. Yet the stories are fantastic no less and his mind devours them greedily, after all, when one is so above all others, when one is made to possess a gift so unseen in this land or any other, one is often inclined to fill their minds with whatever can be found to fill, his thirst for knowledge as insatiable as a Demons for blood or an Angels desire to kill the aforementioned.

He wonders of them truly, turns within his mind the tales of The Black Prince and The Angel King, considers Malina and Ava, the Angel who killed for fun and ponders all the more on Jaidah and Ruvindra. One day he shall meet these wolves, all of them, and weave within his mind a story all his own. For now however he will continue on, pelt of beaten copper and exquisite gold, the legacy of his bloodline doing little to allow him cover as he moves, paws soft upon the snow as he cups them, having mastered this art early on, loping with a soundless ease in between the thickened trees until his obsidian eyes, so black, so soulless in appearance feel upon the pale form of another, staring up at the sky. Could he have finally found an Angel?

“Miss! Miss!”

He strode forward, powerful form carrying him over the snow drift and towards her, gorgeous grin alight on his features as he offered his typical flamboyant bow, having forgotten, just for a moment that it was a female he spoke to, his normal shyness having become absent as his mind processed the possibility of having his knowledge expanded as he moved to sit before her, straightening from his bow to beam towards her. She was pale as any Angel and yet.....upon closer inspection (and the boy made no effort to hide the way he studied her) she didn’t seem in possession of the marks he sought, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Very unfortunate, yes, I am most terribly sorry to announce that you are, in fact, not an Angel. Perchance, were you attempting to extrapolate there location this evening also?”

The words flow with sinful ease, beautiful features light beneath the moon as the golden boy, not yet even for spoke with all the confidence of a creature well past such an age, black eyes held agianst her own, fully expecting an answer. After all, for one so intelligent, one gifted so beautifully to understand even the most complex things in life....social conventions had somehow become lost. He does not mean to appear arrogant or rude, he only wants to help, only wishes to inform others so that they may better learn. Of course, he has never considered that they may not desire his help.


p a n
all the world is made of faith and trust and pixie dust