Silvertip Mountain alex, you gotta fend for yourself

The cool quiet of the night was shattered by a loud rustling nearby, and Phocion's ears pricked, face contorting in an irritated scowl. His icy eyes darted around, trying to figure out the source of the noise, and eventually lighted on a great gray brute, milling about. Tail lashing, he burst from the brush, less in a haste to confront the intruder, more accepting the hunt to be over--for now.

"Looking for a place to sleep?" His voice was colder than he intended, punctuated with distaste at having to leave his quarry behind. Nevertheless, the pale priest dipped his head in a nod, gaze flashing in the gleam of the stars. "What brings you to this mountain?"

Wolves came, now and then, but the only mainstays were himself, Cortland, and Poet. He had not yet found more friends or followers; it was little company he kept, these days. He began to mentally size the man up, assessing his strengths. . .and potential weaknesses, as well.