In the dreamscape, Balthazar seems to waver and ripple between the shape of his vessel and angelic trueform. Sometimes he's one or the other, sometimes both at once. Either way, he feels small next to Gabriel, looking up startled at the touch of the archangel's wing. Something resembling shyness crosses his face, and he looks down quickly.

"It's not really my place, is it? To complain. But we all feel the loss. Felt the loss." Is this past or present or something utterly unreal? Balthazar's not sure, himself.

"Maybe some of us should have left to look for you."