Silvertip Mountain One cycle around the sun

Journeying had, for the time being, been put off. He knew not when he would set out again, but knew that currently was not the time to do so. So, while he'd lingered along the borders, he had not crossed them. He'd looked out over the land beyond the boundaries of the pack's land, watching everything and working to decide where he might go next. There were any number of places he could travel to and explore, plenty of blank spaces in his mental map of the wilds. Each greyed area was in need of being filled with colour, placing it's own mark on the outline within his head. Thus far, he had only the paths he'd taken while going to places with a purpose, so the idea of traveling just to travel interested him greatly. At times, it grew difficult to hold himself back, but somehow he'd managed to do just that.

Alastor had been trailing along the eastern border when a howl rang out over the land, summoning the entirety of the pack. A game was planned for them, such was made clear by the message, and he wondered just what type of game it might be. Wishing to find out, he abandoned his aimless wandering and headed in the direction the call had originated from, pace brisk. He slowed only when he could see the outlines of the others, and then stopped once near enough to hear once the leaders began to speak. There he stood, silent, awaiting details concerning the game to be given.