He had passed along the information that he had found, and it was Zelda's job, now, to decide what she wanted to do with it. The male would stand by her side through it, offer his advice and consul when necessary, but at this point he had relinquished control. And with his thoughts a bit less heavy, he was able to pay a bit more attention to the gentle but ever-present tug of his soulbound. Alistair headed towards Spirane from the forests, the path feeling strangely right in a way that he could not entirely discern. It was as if his paws were made to walk this stretch of land, as if they had many times in the past and would many times into the future. It was comfortable, familiar, enough to force the anxieties from his mind to make way for something beautifully bright and colorful.

The state of Moladion was tenuously peaceful, threatening to snap into violence at any given moment, and yet he did not feel unsafe traveling to Spirane despite the lack of an alliance between the mountains and his home. Perhaps it was simply due to the fact that his imprint called Spirane home, and he could not imagine a world in which he would be barred from seeing her. Despite everything, he knew that Taviora was going to be pulled left and right in the coming moons, and Alistair was uncertain of what side Zelda would take. Her lost love's father, or her friend Pine in Iromar. Perhaps he should speak with her about the dangers of letting emotions get in the way of decisions- though he felt as though she might already know that. Her actions had shown that she wasn't so much of a child as her age would suggest.

The Goddess tended to hang on the fringes of his mind often, and he tried to control the feelings, quash them into loyalty and friendship. There had been, and still were, many lovely and kind women in his life and at times he struggled to separate longing for motherly affection and more romantic inclinations- which, he supposed, could certainly bite him in the buttocks at a later date.

He felt Moonstone close enough, perhaps closer to the borders than he would have expected, but Alistair was at least aware that she had spent some time away from Spirane and with the change of leadership had returned. In dreams small visions of her learnings would come to him, enough to have him know the difference between burdock and valerian root. His white eyes slid over the terrain, a lazy, serpentine action, before he settled on his haunches to call for her. Likely the woman would be on her way already, she had an uncanny way of knowing when he was here, but a monotone howl was lifted nonetheless.