He wanders into the new sphere that is Moladion at the cusp of winter; his stature impressive and imposing, at least where he is from. Among the many domains outside of the small corner that Moladion occupies there is a world where wolves typically grow no larger than the cream toned male currently jogging southbound. This is a place where words are frivolous and used extremely sparingly, most often in times of immense stress, and names are given by the earth of which they are all born and return to in every life cycle. He is Palebone and he comes from such a place.

The dark ticked male has made his path into Moladion in search for a suitable mate and a pack to settle into after being a bachelor for a couple of years. It was finally time for him to fulfill his duty as a healthy, young male. That urge had led him deep into Moladion territory as the scents of hundreds of females in estrus flooded the wintry air and he picked his way through the unclaimed lands. It was clear that this realm was well populated by the sheer volume of fresh scents that he passed by in his pursuit for the perfect female. A world that seemed to thrive so easily was promising for a newcomer such as himself.

Thicker layers of snowfall gradually lessened as he continued further south, following the river until he happened upon a stranger wandering by the waterfront. A sharp bark is signaled for the male to hear and respond to as Palebone approached in a cautious yet eager manner, his tail rigid but wagging level with his spine. His creamy gray ears were perked excitedly as he stepped closer to the unknown male, investigating him as he was allowed and pressing for allowance to sniff out his scent further.