Moonspear Struggle to get your attention

Aesop was very, very pleased that he was alone when the call went up. He'd had his head in the hole he and Floki had made, sorting through his modest collection of dried herbs and roots. In his excitement he'd whipped his head up, promptly slamming it into the rock above. He swore loud enough that nearby birds took flight in protest, but he hardly cared. He scrambled back, carefully extricating his front half from the cache.

He could hardly move fast enough on his way to the borders. Caution slowed him, it wouldn't do for him to arrive covered in dirt from falling halfway down the mountain. Dirt clung to his shoulders and neck and the crown of his head, and though he had tried to shake most of it off, some was left.

Aesop was disappointed to find that he had arrived after Charon. He'd hoped to have a private moment before the alpha arrived, but it looked like Charon's youth won out. Or he'd just been closer. Either way, Aesop took a moment to nod respectfully before turning towards his friend. Alastor, he breathed, and though he didn't realize it, he looked at the Greek like he had hung the moon and stars himself. You came. The weak, distrustful part of Aesop had not expected to ever see Alastor again. It was not often that he got to keep the things he loved.