Silvertip Mountain When Snows Arrive

As everyone meant to be there seemed to be accounted for, the reasoning behind their sudden call to gather around was revealed. Though the Greek listened, the task worried him more than it excited him. He knew little of his fellow pack mates, if anything at all, so the idea of having to find a gift for one of them was… well, alarming, to say the least. He didn’t know what he would do, especially if he messed up and chose the stone representing someone he’d never even spoken with before. That left him with only one option—figure out which rock was meant to represent himself, then snag it before anyone else could. It was a terribly childish thing to do, he wouldn’t deny that, but he saw no other options. It was unusual for him to be as unsocial as he’d been lately, but he felt himself unable to help it. It seemed that whenever he got close, made a friend he believed would always be there, they left. They’d leave and he would be left alone, broken down and defeated. With the unlucky streak he’d been given in the past, it didn’t come as too much of a surprise that he was reluctant to get to know the other wolves of the mountain.

Gently, he shook his head, clearing his mind of thoughts of the past, not wanting to dampen his mood any further. Alastor rose up and took a few steps towards the array of various rocks that’d been laid out, examining them from afar to try and figure out which was his. Before he could reach them, however, he was brought to a halt by an observation that’d been announced—someone didn’t have a stone. Perhaps that someone would be him, and he’d be let off easy. Though it pained him a bit to admit to such immature thoughts, he couldn’t help but hope it was his own stone that was missing and not someone else’s. The male didn’t wish to partake in any activities that were so involved, and wished his desire would be answered by the Gods and Goddesses.

Alastor sat back on his haunches, deciding to leave the outcome to fate, and also awaiting a reply from the leading male. The argent fellow focused intently on the lighter man, ears pressed forward as he awaited a name to be said—or, rather, his name to be said.