Silvertip Mountain The winds of change

After the visit they’d received from the cougar, Alastor had taken to patrolling the borders. His main focus was the direction from which the feline had entered from, though he’d looked over the other invisible lines as well. It’d been ages since he’d done such a thing, having known from the start he wasn’t cut out for the duties that came with being a Warden. That type of life just wasn’t for him, nor was one that involved him needing to fight on a daily basis. The Greek lupine was a creature of words, preferring a logical and reasonable approach over that of direct violence. That was, more than likely, what had allowed for him to go so long without acquiring any horrid blemishes upon his flesh—and he’d love for his body to remain unmarked. With thoughts like that in his mind, it was a surprise he’d even consider patrolling as he was, but there was something that outweighed all else. Something that drove him to risk himself being scarred—Mason.
 
During the pack’s encounter with the sharp-clawed menace, the male had tasked himself with the job of protecting Mason. He’d positioned himself between the child and the cat, and yet Shardul had still managed to get ahold of the boy. He felt guilty for that, knowing well it was his fault—that he should have engaged in battle against the beast right from the start to ensure the safety of the child. His guilt outweighed all else, becoming the only thing to drive him forward. He was not a fighter. He would have lost against the cat. He would have been injured, possibly even killed. Time and time again, his mind tried to reason with itself, tried to convince the Greek he’d chosen the correct path. Every time, though, his conscious would come crashing down on it all, shattering the thoughts and filling him with even more guilt for trying to justify his own actions. There was no way he could justify what had happened. He had failed to protect the son of his leader, failing both the pale wolf and the pack as a result.
 
Alastor had thrown himself deep into another session of patrolling the edges of the pack’s land, strengthening the scent of their markers and being mindful of everything going on around him. When two howls chased each other around the mountain, however, his attention was pulled to that. He recognized the one as belonging to Fitz, and his ears fell back as a result. It was urgent, calling for the audience of the entire pack, but did not signal danger. Still, he wasted no time in answering the call with his presence, running through the territory until he’d reached the waterfall. Fitz was there with Zaria at his side, and before them there awaited another wolf. He did not recognize her, but knew the female to be of the pack based on her scent alone. He just about resemble a kicked puppy as he drew closer, sitting a little ways off, but having his full attention focused on the light Alpha. His mouth remained zipped shut as he waited for the others to arrive, and to hear what their leader had to say.