The next morning dawned to a snow-white landscape. Rising from his hastily dug shelter, WhiteShadow turned towards the morning sun, searching for warmer climes. As he walked he finished the food he had scavenged the night before, the strange scene in the tavern still weighing heavily on his mind; particularly those of that dark creature. No, it wasn't a creature, it was a man, like the rest, but they all reacted with such fear... Why? WhiteShadow had sensed the power of both the hunter and the greater power of the man... The hothead, named Grimm, had called him Zio, hadn't he? But WhiteShadow's limited magical power did not extend to sensing good or evil, although the Motavian was ignorant of that fact anyway. As he walked, WhiteShadow realised that the snow had tricked him; he was going back over his tracks, back into the centre of town. He could see the buildings clearly now, his eyesight unfettered by the snow.Deciding to stick with his chosen path, and return to the forests from whence he came, WhiteShadow passed by the notorious tavern from the night before. There, he was met by an unexpected sight. Although the damaged door and windows were no surprise, the young blue-haired woman kneeling, praying over a noticeably scarred corpse was far from WhiteShadow's impressions of humans; they all seemed to be selfish creatures, but this one, she was trying to purify the soul of one that died in a bar fight! But something else also caught the albino's red pupils. The blue-haired woman; was it possible that he had met her before? It seemed impossible, considering WhiteShadow's dealings with humans... Shaking away the thought, WhiteShadow raised himself out of his reverie and went to move on.

"What's the matter, friend? Do you wish to aid me in sending these souls to the Great Light?" The voice, sparkling like the snowflakes in the sun, stopped the Motavian in his tracks. Throwing off his cowl, he turned back to the woman. She didn't even blink when she saw his face, instead she got to her feet and extended a hand. "Kyra Tierney, Esper extrordinare and hero - and you are?" She enquired brightly. WhiteShadow was stunned, retreating into his usual defence of silence. Her brown eyes bored into his, however, and he could not run, nor even look, away. Slowly, he lifted his paw to hers, the stubby claws becoming engulfed by her longer fingers. "They, they call me WhiteShadow..." He muttered softly, before she cut him off. "WhiteShadow? Look, I've had it up to here with you cult members, now scram, before I get really mad at you for wanting to desecrate these bodies!" The gentle tone of vouce had turned to anger, her hand releasing WhiteShadow's to reach for a slasher at her hip. Stunned once again, WhiteShadow turned and ran, confused as ever.

WhiteShadow's mind raced as his feet did the same. Cult? What was that? What was that woman talking about? But such concerns seemed to take a back seat to the Motavian as it slowly dawned on him... She hadn't been afraid of him. Almost every other human he had met with had treated him with either revulsion or fear - but even when she got angry, she was never afraid. Maybe it was to do with her being a hero; WhiteShadow found it strange to meet such a brash nature in one so young, with none of the malice the hunter carried himself with. Replacing his cowl, WhiteShadow decided once again to stay out of the way of the strange affairs of humans and follow his own code, his own way. And right now that way lead back to the desert sands and the forests of the only place WhiteShadow called home. It would be a long trip, and a hard one, but WhiteShadow had grown used to the hardship of a life of constant travel and just wished to rest awhile, without harrasment. The cave of the sand worm, that would be where he would find his solace, and with the fortunes still buried there, he could live without theiving or running into trouble from the Palman population. The peace he sought would have to be found in the despairing depths of solitude; companionship, he decided, was just too dangerous. Not that life alone was not without its dangers, thought the Motavian, turning to face a baby sand worm that had just reared out of the sand.

High Priest Semiru shielded his eyes from the sun as he gazed out over the treetops from his position, high atop his temple. Looking down, he saw his followers all gathered below, masks shining in the sun. This close to the desert, it was no surprise that this forest was sub-tropical. Placing his own heavy mask back over his head, Semiru descended the steps to prepare another sacrifice for the great one, in the hopes that he would return and lead them to the Great Light. Semiru chuckled as his followers began chanting, envoking the name of the great one. Although this religion had only sprung up recently, based purely around local folklore of recent events, Semiru had taken advantage and swung many to the cause. His time spent in the presidential guard, before being discharged, gave him a commanding tone and bearing. The only problem, now, was that those below did not chant his name, but that would be rectified in time. For now, they followed his word blindly, seeing him as a great prophet. He chuckled harshly again, before mounting the altar, raised twenty metres off the ground. "Loyal followers!" He bellowed, his voice carrying across the clearing. "The sun is high, and it is the time to make another sacrifice to our lord! Bring forth the sacrifice!" Suddenly the crowd parted, allowing two burlier worshippers, carrying a thinner, smaller man, to approach the altar. The man seemed to be in the throes of some sort of ecstasy, writhing and spasming with a look of pleasure on his face. As the man approached, Semiru began dousing the man's head with goat's blood, his own powerful, former soldier's arms glistening with blood themselves. "May he grant us strength!" He cried, lifting a stone knife, carved with the great one's features. "May he bring us speed!" Came the next cry, as he drew the blade slowly down the smaller man's chest, who registered no pain at all. "May he bring us, RIGHTEOUSNESS!" Came the cry, as Semiru followed the previous stroke with a more powerful cut, slicing the sacrifice from waist to neck. He died instantly. The crowd cheered wildly as Semiru turned to them, his arms soaked with blood and guts, his pure white mask and costume now spattered with drops of blood. He drank in the moment, the heat, the smell, the joy as he cried finally; "All hail WhiteShadow! Scourge of the unbelievers!!!"

WhiteShadow shoved his scimitar back into his belt with a sigh. That monsterfly was hardly a challenge, his need for only one sword allowing him to use his other hand to knock it senseless; such weak monsters were not much of a threat to anyone, in these post-Dark Force days. This newfound strength in the populace, however, was rooted in fear. In a technological age such as this, ancient magic and evil forces arising was enough to put paid to anyone's beliefs of reality. At least the biomonsters had a rational source! Discarding these idle thoughts, WhiteShadow looked ahead, to his goal. The forest of home, just outside Tonoe, looked just like he'd left it; aside from one difference. From it's depths rose the topmost level of a temple, stair-based and built in sand-blown yellow stone. What was the meaning of this? It was at least worth a small look, WhiteShadow decided, especially if it threatened his solitude. Venturing into the forest, he headed straight through the dark-green glades, noting the glowing eyes that watched him from the dark green underbrush. Despite his years of abscence, the Wolfangs remembered his scent, and had decided that he was no threat; for now. He wondered if these invaders into the forest had hurt them to protect their temple. If they had, WhiteShadow would be their avenging angel, he promised himself. No matter what these Palmans intentions were, this was his and the Wolfangs home, and he would die to protect it.

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