<font color=#a1987a><font color=white></font> How am I still alive?</font>

He slips through the under growth of the forest. Last night he'd had a dream, of an angel that fell from the sky, burning embers follow her down through the sky, her wings broken and bloody as the fires of hell tried to cut the path between heaven and earth. It had woken him up with a start. Had paralized him with fear. He'd seen the path with which the angel had fallen, had seen where she had landed. He'd taken his leave from Iromar's demonic lands as quickly as possible. The angel was familiar to him. But he only knew this because he felt it, not because he actually knew it. He hadn't even spoken to Ruvindra before he'd gone, hoping that she would understand once he returned, once he was able to figure everything out.

As he loped across the landscape his mind had run a mile a minute. He traced the landscape of this place, knew where almost everything was like the back of his hand by now, the path had led him towards the eastern crater. He reaches the edge by mid day, or so he assumes, the snow had slowed him down greatly and his extreamly thin body was not used to the sudden bursts of energy he'd thrown in, in order to reach this place as fast as possible. He must find this angel. He knows that not all of his dreams are real, that not all of them show things for what they are. But he knows that he must be the one to find this creature. Something just screams at him to do it. Why in such a hurry Pal? he hears the male voice and feels his muscles tighten as he leaps clear of a log and finds the other side of the ground to be lower and less level.

He stumbles by the distraction and lands on his shoulder, his body having slipped out from under his rod thin legs, he looks like he is malnurished and to passer-bys it would appear as if he's running for his life. His shoulder screams at him in pain, his white hide already yellow stained from poor maintenance over the past three years becomes even more muddy than before as the snow mixes with the dirt and he slides a few feet forward. He scrambles to all fours and continues on with nothing but a slight limp. It is the shoulder that Ishtar had dug into the ground when she'd pinned him down after telling her about Baph's death. The one he'd seen and not warned her about. But he continues anyway. When he reaches the small stream he is confronted by a white she-wolf standing in the sunlight.

He pulls himself to a stand still, perhaps a bit of snow goes flying out in front of him, it might have gone far enough to grace the back end of the she-wolf, perhaps causing her to stir or turn around to face him. His nose tips upwards, the scent of the other on the breeze is strong. A mixture. Something familiar but something that is all together different in it's own right. He takes a few steps closer, now possibly within a few feet of her. He doesn't speak, there is no "I'm sorry to intrude" there is nothing from his lips as pale white pupil-less eyes peer towards the others familiar form. The scars on her legs, visible but not at the same time. He is curious, but he does not move forwards, he does not move to make the first move. That had always been his way.

Once he had been a sweet creature, one who only wanted to make everyone feel good, to make others happy, he had been loving, caring and above all loyal to family. He had tried to make them all see what was to happen. But Charming... Charming he had denied his visions. He had told them all it was false. How could he have done that? he had turned nearly everyone in the pack away from him. Even his beloved Duchess... There is a reason for this my son... mother.... he is confused, he doesn't really know why his mother speaks to him now, nor why he is here.... but fate has thrown him into much weirder situations before this.

"this is how he speaks"
Paldor thoughts look like this
Voices in his head look like this

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