Silverlight Terrace are you really gonna love me when i'm gone.

Rain seemed to haunt Aesop, whose mood had turned as grey as the days. All too quickly his life had turned dull as the daily repitition of routine set in. He saw little and less of his packmates, whom he would normally rely on for his entertainment. The days had been wet and dreary, the sky wreathed in clouds. With the stars masked and the days too wet to gather plants, Aesop had been left with nothing to do, no purpose to drive him. 

So he wandered. As he wandered he hunted, and what he did not eat wound up in the pack's caches. It made him feel usefull, and kept the worries that plagued him away. He had not had any word from Alastor, and his heart turned to worry turned to fear and regret. Were these the same feelings that had plagued Alastor during Aesop's own lengthy absence? If so, he felt terrible. Often Aesop's mind turned to the Greek, whose presence so comforted him. There was nothing between them but friendship, but the potential for something more was there. Aesop wanted to know what they, together, could be.

His paws took him to the flat fields where he had last seen Alastor entirely of their own accord. Had they consulted him (before his mind wandered) he would have headed any other direction. Through the haze, Aesop saw a wolf in the distance, and he called out with a short, clipped howl. The company would do him good, and perhaps would be welcomed by the other. So he approached.