He's been one of the many and few that have taken up abode. It hasn't been particularly long, just... he doesn't know. He's never fared well at time, particularly with no way to track the perigee, even ignoring the breaking of time in his homeworld and this place.

Since he's got here, when he hasn't gone back to his hive to check up on those he cares for, he's been living with Sam. Those back on Beforus would think him mad to stay with an angel, he knows, but he's also aware he's already established himself as being mad even among his friends. Such was the life of a prophet, he reminds himself once again.

Perhaps its his stay with Sam that marks a scent upon him. Perhaps its just mere coincidence as he dives on in to the land of Nightmares-- Daymares, it should be, he thinks-- eager to indulge in the wonders of esoteric runes and mad poets he shouldn't but will most likely attempt to read out loud. Dressed in bones, he walks gladly into that dark night, finding a safety of sorts there that to most others wouldn't be.

Even in those times he stops and stares at the strange aliens that resemble Sam. He had claimed that not all those around here were angels, but he has yet to spot the differences. Surely there was something more than wings to divide them? Could there be other angels here with wings hidden away? Maybe if he can just get a closer look...