Silvertip Mountain look well, o wolves

The creature had caught him off guard, bounding past him in order to secure the pup between his jaws. Alastor had not been prepared for such an occurrence, having expected the feline to back off once it realized it was outnumbered. Too bad that didn’t happen. Instead of leaving, he’d snatched up Mason, using the child as leverage to secure his own safety. The threat Shardul had hissed out made his intentions clear, and the Greek was not about to test the authenticity of his words. Every part of his brain informed him to take the beast seriously, to heed his warning, and so he did. His paws stayed planted to the ground, but that did not keep a low growl from exiting his throat. He wanted to reach out and take the boy back, but he could not—not within breaking the one rule the feline had laid out for the wolves of the mountain. Unable to figure out a way around it, he looked to the leader, awaiting his instructions. And once they came, he responded right away.

Alastor followed out the order he’d been given and approached Fitz, but his eyes continuously trailed back to the large predator. Having run the words over in his head, he believed himself to have a general idea of what the pale wolf had planned, but he did not voice his theories. He, instead, kept quiet and waited, anxious to see how the scene would play out. That is, until another voice sounded. The argent lupine recognized it as being Zaria, and his icy eyes were drawn to her as she streaked forward. His legs grew stiff as he watched her small frame speed towards the feline, wondering, momentarily, if she had not understood the puma’s words. He couldn’t figure out how things would pan out, not for either of the sides. All he could do was hope that Mason got out of it okay, and that the seemingly impulsive female hadn’t blown the child’s only chance at survival.