Alesdair mouthed the name of the young would he'd pledge himself to. Fantasia. He had a good name, the White Rose. It was a good name, if the moon was illuminating the teen's fur right. He eyed the female, a warrior. That was remarkable, not unheard of.

Alesdair eyed Chantily, taking the first step in grabbing one of the roses that Fantasia took. The blind blue wolf walked away. Was that good? Bad? The blind one walked away without taking one of the roses, albeit he'd have probably hurt himself along the way.

Alesdair eyed the teen and the rose bushel. With a wave of his tail, Alesdair closed in on one of the blooming rose buds and clipped it with his fangs. Careful of the thorns on the stem that he held within his mouth, he clenched in a less precarious part of it, one with more spacious seating of thorns. Alesdair bowed his head, "I'll be here when the full moon rises."

He padded off, the rose held carefully in his mouth. Maybe somewhere close he could settle until the moon rose.