With the sinking of the sun he found himself needing to move. Not far, not beyond the mountains, but somewhere outside of the valley’s walls. He wandered aimlessly, having nowhere in particular to go, and noticing a moment too late that he was getting closer to Easthollow. The realisation made him stop and evaluate, considering proceeding, before altering his path just slightly enough to take him passed his sister’s pack; he wasn’t ready to visit her again, and figured it was too late, anyways. Surely, she’d be tending to her children at this time.

Before long he was beneath the coverage of the trees, meandering through the territory with mild curiosity. He wasn’t familiar with the place, knowing just enough to not be too wary upon entering it; it was uninhabited, plagued not by anyone that he’d need to worry about. It was not, however, empty—and this he realised soon after his entry, the soft crunch of snow underfoot preparing him even before he’d seen the perfectly toasted marshmallow that was the woman.

Rather than changing his path again, he continued towards her. And the closer he got, he let out a sharp chuff to catch her attention, though no other greetings were given—no point in wasting his breath on words if she wasn’t even interested in talking.

When she stopped he followed suit shortly after, but not without first stealing a few extra steps in her direction. He wasn’t the least bit threatened by her, nor did he feel particularly inclined to warn her off; they weren’t too close to his valley and she seemed to be alone in every sense of the word. No one worth worrying over, just a passerby. “Neither was I,” he responded. “Usually how it is, though. Company appears when you’re least expecting it.” It was bothersome and annoying at times, even now—and he’d come a long way in terms of tolerance, especially towards strangers.

“I’m not leaving, if that’s what you’re hinting at,” he added a beat later. “Not yet, anyways.” Eventually, he would return to his valley just as he did every other time but, for the time being, he wanted to be out and about. So, instead of leaving, he actually tried to socialise. “You alone?” was asked without much thought, the creepiness in association with it going right over his head. Xan wasn’t creepy, after all. He was totally normal all—most never—of the time.

The obvious was stated, to which he would have smirked and said something snarky in turn, had they met just a few months prior. He was better now, though, at handling interactions with strangers—he had to be. No one wanted to be associated with someone that constantly dragged them down, so he’d forced himself to grow up a little, leaving behind his quick-to-attack self and allowing the space necessary for better qualities to grow—not that they did but, hey, at least only some of the negatives were left behind.

“I know,” he settled on saying, figuring it was a good, even response; neither too arrogant nor oblivious, though it did lean more towards the former. “No one claims this land, as far as I can tell.” There weren’t any signs of a pack present, nor reoccurring scents that might suggest someone was attempting to claim the area. It was open to all, though he’d yet to find a reason to visit it again in the future.

Introductions. All first conversations seemed to eventually reach a point at which they were somewhat required, despite how often he wished that the moment would never arrive. He had nothing against giving out his name—in fact, he thought it best when everyone knew who he was—but he found the whole exchange to be bland and forced. Did strangers even want to give their names to one another, or did they do so only because they were raised seeing those before them do the same? Perhaps he thought too much of it; he couldn’t tell because he never actually voiced his thought process. He just continued with his side of the exchange, just as he was doing now: “My name’s Xan.” And although she hadn’t asked, he added, “Unlike you, I’m not alone.” Presently, he was undeniably by himself but, at the same time, he wasn’t—his home was nearby, as was his sister’s.

“What brings you here?” he asked, dropping his train of thought to focus on the conversation at hand. “Exploring?” At this point, he couldn’t tell if he was legitimately curious, or if he was just going through the motions—that would be something to figure out later on down the line.

Alexander wasn’t the least bit familiar with teasing and, due to that, wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to it—really, he didn’t even recognise it. Her comment was taken as a serious question, at which his brow furrowed. Imaginary friends? What did he look like—a child? “I don’t have imaginary friends,” he told her, leaving out how he barely even had real friends, for obvious reasons. He swung his head in the direction that he’d come from, pointing his nose southeastwards for a fleeting second before turning back to face her. “My pack’s just over there,” he explained. “So, even though they aren’t here right now, I’m not really alone.” Not like her, not anymore.

“Something new?” he parroted. “Like what?” A new land, new wolves, new what?

Talking about the valley brought him joy, feeling prideful, too, when asked about it. Perhaps he would make it even greater than the original—that crossed his mind briefly, only to be washed out by her question. “Bearclaw Valley,” he answered. “Named after our resident bear.” Not true, but way cooler than saying it was because of an island in the river. After all, how many wolves got to say they lived with a bear that wasn’t trying to kill them?

As she explained, he listened, and found that he could relate. Although he’d been pushed from his home, they’d both left families behind and were now trying to make lives for themselves. He could appreciate that, given that he was familiar with the cause. “Yeah, I get it. I guess I’m doing something similar,” he said with a shrug. “Trying to do something on my own, I mean.” But, he wasn’t really alone, was he? He had plenty of others working along with him, contributing to make what he’d set out to do a reality. Still, it was his decision that kept everything moving, so he still wanted to think that he was the same as her.

“If you’re really looking to do something for yourself, you could join me,” the albino offered. “It’s probably not the same as building something up on your own, but it’d be your choice.” To join or not, to come and go—it would be a decision based solely on her, not her family or friends. And wasn’t that a major part of living—making choices on your own, for yourself?

Before he could disagree about the bear running the place—he should really learn to pick up on the sound of teasing—she realised the truth. But him being in charge still didn’t explain why the bear was there, or how he was involved, so Xan explained: “The bear is just sort of there. He’s been there as long as I’ve been alive, and even long before that. Doesn’t really do anything, though.” Especially not now. Arthur was currently preoccupied with the whole hibernation thing, so he wasn’t even out moseying through the valley. He hadn’t left, though, he was still living there—just sleeping.

When her head turned he, too, glanced sideways, but there was nothing there. Looking back at her with a furrowed brow, he waited for her to either speak or run off after something, wanting to believe that she’d seen something he hadn’t. The creases of his forehead smoothed out when she looked back at him, speaking, and apparently no longer distracted by whatever had made her lose focus. “It’s hard,” he admitted. “Definitely not for everyone, but I don’t think that’s something you can find out for yourself until you’ve tried.” Obviously, some made it clear that they could never lead, let alone build their own pack from scratch—he thought of past encounters and the submissive wolves he’d met. Anyone could tell just by looking at them that they wouldn’t be able to do anything worthwhile but, for wolves like Corinna, things weren’t so black and white. She didn’t come off as the easily dominated type, and she was bold enough to have left all of her family and friends behind, so maybe she could do something for herself—not that he’d tell her any of this, as it borderlined a compliment and he didn’t give those out so easily.

“I get that,” he said, biting back the harsher words that threatened to spill over. Although he was used to getting his way and had a bad habit of acting out when he didn’t, he was trying to leave that part of him behind and become a better wolf. So whilst the words crossed his mind, he kept from actually saying them, choosing to take the more civil route. This time around anyways; it was on a case-by-case basis that he picked and chose who he was nice to and who he was not. “You know where I am if you change your mind,” he said, briefly glancing towards home.

Calling it a blast was definitely an overstatement. Arthur had to be the most boring bear in all of existence, even when he was awake! At least, from what Xan remembered. He just wandered around and complained, or ate berries and bugs—never anything fun. But, so as not to ruin the mirage now in place, he didn’t mention any of this. He’d let her believe whatever.

Where he held onto compliments, treating them like a prize that it took ages for anyone to earn, she wasn’t nearly as greedy. He didn’t know whether to appreciate it or feel skeptical, so he felt a small mix of both. “I hope I do,” was his response. “I was born to eventually lead.” At least he’d always thought so, being the firstborn to an alpha pair. Whether or not the reins would have been handed over to him had the original pack not disbanded, he would never know, but not a day had gone by where he’d thought otherwise. Even if any of his sisters would have challenged him, back then—and maybe even still, under the right circumstances—he wouldn’t have had any qualms about putting them back in place. The valley was always meant to be his, not theirs.

As soon as she took a step towards him his body tensed up, the memory of his first meeting with Laurel flickering through his head. With a furrowed brow, he said, “Well, yeah,” as if what she’d said was the most obvious thing. “I don’t think anyone’s good at just one thing.” What she was trying to do went right over his head—no surprise there. Like with Laurel, he just chalked it up to her being weird.

There that word was again: prince. Despite seeing himself more as a king as of late, the term still stroked his ego. A smirk played at the corners of his maw and his chest puffed out ever so slightly, easily influenced by the title; he’d been quick to react to it ever since he was a child, understanding that it put him above the rest. “I am,” he said. “At least until I officially take over—then I’ll be a king.” Although he considered himself one already, one could argue that he hadn’t quite ascended yet. But hey, both held power in the word alone, so he wasn’t complaining.

As per usual, her charms went unnoticed. Had he received more socialisation growing up, perhaps he would have at least learned to pick up on certain cues but, alas, he was forced to start learning later on in life; it made it difficult, especially since he was exactly trying. “Fighting,” he answered point-blank. “I’ve been training as a warrior my entire life.” More or less since he’d started to walk.

As she took her final step he decided that she was too close and, though he didn’t feel threatened by her, he wanted to know why there was so little distance between them now. Each of her other steps had been noticed, yes, but he hadn’t thought too far into them. Maybe she was hard of hearing and needed those few extra steps in order to continue the conversation, but now? Now he felt his body tense up and his stomach was unsettled, almost as if he was readying himself for a fight—only, she’d shown no signs of aggression thus far and he didn’t really feel the same, mentally, as he did when he wanted to attack someone. Confused and annoyed, his voice was low as he warned, “You’re too close.”

On top of that, she continued to speak to him, asking a question that he felt had an obvious answer—again, her ulterior meaning wasn’t understood. “What warrior isn’t?” he asked in return. He wanted to take a step back and return some of the distance that she’d taken away but, instead, he remained where he was, staring down at her; walking away was the same as standing down, he’d learned long ago, and he wasn’t prepared to let her win whatever game she was playing at.

When she moved away he took it as obedience, only for the huff that followed to tell him he was wrong. In actuality, it was frustration that had driven her away, not his warning. But what did she have to be frustr—oh. His own expression became a mess of confusion and irritation, the latter being directed at himself. He hadn’t been able to tell—he was never able to tell. “I can’t,” he admitted, although it physically pained him to admit that there was something he couldn’t do. And in the midst of his troubles, she asked him a question, one that he didn’t know how to answer. Stumbling for the right thing to say, he rushed out with, “No—no, I don’t think that.” Wait… or did he think that? Both her wording and his thoughts were jumbled, creating one giant disaster. “I mean, yeah,” he tried to clarify. “I guess you’re, uh, pretty.” She wasn’t ugly, at least, so that must mean she’s pretty.

“This,” he forced out, gesturing between them. “Is something that I’m not good at.” A bit of an understatement, really. He was terrible when it came to all aspects of flirting, whether he was on the receiving or giving end, and even saying that was being generous.

Alexander had never understood flirting. He couldn’t recognise it, he couldn’t do it, and he didn’t see any point to it—if interested in someone, why not just tell them? Although it made him come off as being terribly dense, at least it protected him from being played; flirting with Xan to get something would almost always result in frustration, possibly from both ends. And whilst he couldn’t pick up on stuff like that, arrogance—and what he thought was arrogance—was something as plain as the day to him. And for the most part, he wasn’t too fond of inflated egos—unless it was his own, of course. “You’re not that pretty,” he countered. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what to say in regards to her appearance or how he viewed it, but saying the opposite of what she believed felt right, if only to be difficult.

When she apologised, he almost felt bad for insulting her—almost being the keyword there. He ignored whatever regret was beginning to form and waved off her apology. “It’s fine, just don’t do it again,” he said. Now that he knew what she’d been doing, it’d be weird having her in his personal space; it was weird before, too, but would be more so now with his newly acquired awareness.

His insult didn’t anger her, which surprised him. In fact, it seemed like it just sort of rolled right off, not leaving a single mark. Disappointing. When she took her leave, parting with words referencing the gift that was his personal space, he stared after her, a frown firmly in place. Despite the earlier confirmation that his offer would remain indefinitely, he was skeptical now, doubting that keeping her around would be a good idea. Shaking his head, he let the thought linger as he turned and continued on his way, southbound.