The albino’s return was a fairly uneventful one, no notice given when he slipped back in and down the Boulder Path; he’d rubbed the side of his face along one or two of the boulders on the way down, reinforcing his scent markers. He had half a mind to even situate himself there for a bit, though that was more so to rest his body than anything else. Ultimately, this did not happen, as he continued down into the valley. Heading then towards the treeline, he planned to find a nice place to lay down and give his legs a break, his most recent journey having taken a greater toll on his body than previous ones; he’d gone farther, wandering beyond the bounds previously set in place for himself by fear—fear that he had begun to shed, no longer allowing it to control him.

Catching movement in his peripheral, he slowed and turned his head, spotting a dark mass not too far off—Sif, he was sure, after getting a good look. After a moment of pondering, he abandoned his current plan and headed in her direction instead. “Hey,” he called out before reaching her. “What are you doing?” Other than stretching, he wanted to add, but never actually said anything. Truthfully, he knew little about her and the others that had arrived with Wardruna, having not put any effort into getting to know them. Which, now that he thought about it, probably didn’t reflect well on him.

The gleeful face that appeared when she turned took him by surprise, his own expression uncertain. Blinking a few times to refocus, he tried to ignore what he was seeing, unfamiliar with such happiness; the occasional smile had been flashed in his direction before, though they were always small—or fake—and nowhere near as positive as what he just witnessed. So much was different now, he didn’t yet know how to feel about the changes. Admittedly, he was kind of happy with at least one of them, not realising until right then just how much he detested frowns and sombre glances cast in his direction.

Alexander was as still as a statue whilst watching her, nose wrinkling unconsciously as she dropped down and rolled in the dirt; needing to be spotless was a quirk that he’d never quite grown out of. His body stiffened as she approached him, gaze flickering between the dirt and her. Thankfully, she didn’t reach out and touch him or transfer anything onto his own pelt, she just talked—poorly, he noticed, but well enough that he could understand her. “Yeah, I took a trip,” he confirmed. “Over the mountains.” There wasn’t much to share about his trip. However, the conversation itself, despite having only just begun, helped his body relax again as he forced himself to forget that she’d intentionally dirtied herself.

“No friends,” he continued. “I don’t really make friends often.” It was partially intentional, having learned to distance himself early on in life so as not to be hurt later. The one friend that he’d made had died and, since then, he’d become especially cautious with his emotions. In an attempt to distract himself from any thoughts of Kendra, he took in her scent—which proved to be a bad idea, the smell of sea salt burning his mind with memories. “You went to the coast,” he stated, not needing her to confirm it; where else could she have picked up that sort of smell? “What did you do there?” He used to like the coast, long ago, but not anymore. He wasn’t sure he could ever like it again, or even visit it; surely, given his betrayal by abandonment, Drageda wouldn’t let him stay by the sea for very long.

There was an easy way to answer her, though the reason itself wasn’t all too simple. It involved the entirety of his life up until he’d decided to claim his right to the throne, a tale of misery and pain, abandonment and heartache. So much had happened so far that convinced him that he just wasn’t cut out for having friends, even if a part of him longed to have others that he could trust. “Friends always disappoint you in the end,” he decided to say, figuring it was simple enough; it summed up everything, to a certain degree. And he was fine with not having any friends—or at least he’d always thought that he was. Her sudden offer to befriend him took the albino by surprise, an answer not prepared in advance.

“I—You—” What? What was the problem? “You don’t want to be friends with me. My friends get hurt.” Like Kendra—she was his first and only friend, and look at her! She had died, months ago, and his failed friendship with her was at fault for it. It was safer if he didn’t make friends, however tempting the offer was.

He was relieved when she shared a bit about her trip, keeping his mind distracted from being sucked into the idea of friendship. She had family out there—a brother—and he was the reason for her trip. Did that mean she intended to return with him? Maybe not, judging by her tone, though he was still skeptical. “Did things not go well?” he asked. “Are you going to stay with him?” He had to know that, at least.

She seemed persistent with her declaration of biting things and killing those who hurt. He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel towards her words, whether he should take them to heart or write them off as a mere desperate attempt at friendship—but she did not need his friendship, so why press for it unless it was genuine? Even still, he was adamant—and then she mentioned the bear, at which Xan couldn’t help but grin. “The bear is too lazy to help us,” he stated, though there was an unusual softness to his tone that didn’t quite fit his voice. “We can try to be friends. Does that work?” He couldn’t figure out why he was even humouring the idea of a legitimate friendship, but doing so felt right—natural.

Alexander didn’t know what sort of an answer to expect from her. But when she shook her head, he suddenly felt relieved, realising that she wouldn’t be going anywhere. What followed, however, was something that he hadn’t even thought far enough ahead to consider. Thankfully, the answer was a simple one: “If he can fight and hunt and will do both for the pack, he can stay.” If not, not even his newly formed friendship with her would be likely to change his mind.

The comment made left him wondering if anyone in her family could speak. Sif spoke, yes, but it was fractured and accented. And although he could understand her with relative ease, he was curious—but these curiosities would not be soothed, as he decided against asking more about her family. It didn’t matter whether or not they could speak, just as long as they pulled their weight and provided for the pack. Besides, he actually preferred it when those around him were silent—it made it easier to think, the only voice crowding his mind being his own.

“Let me know what he decides,” he said. “Is he still on the coast?” What he really wanted to know was whether or not she’d be taking another trip, but figured this was as good a way as any to get that answer.