He'd beat his father to it. Why not? His father would want to consider, to think, to truly get a feel for things but Elohim? Ah, he'd stopped bothering. Or perhaps he had merely become more adept at moving through the motions faster. Whatever the case, it hadn't taken him long to venture north come the stirring of Iromar. Besides, he figured perhaps Aster had returned to Asteraia. He'd been trying not to think too hard about it though - after all, they'd been neighbors but she had hardly seemed interested in anything more than that. Some wolves, he thought, had strange definitions of friendship. Or was his warped? He supposed he'd find out soon.
He had tried to be smart about it though. Elohim had taken the extra time to carve a path far north, teetering the edge of the tundra so that he'd be as far away from all the other packs as he could be when he did finally call out for Arturio. Even his howl had been hushed, a secret just for Asteraia; see, he had been around long enough to know Blackthorne, his aunt Eve and all the other little nasties he had taken from Glorall. He knew they'd be listening, probably watching if they could. Was he afraid? Hardly. He just liked his privacy, always had.
The sun had began to move towards the west and Elohim took his place beneath one of the sparse trees that littered the space between Asteraia and the tundra. He meshed well with the shade, kept his eyes peeled and ever watchful of the borders and the land beyond - for both foe and friend. He'd heard Arturio, after all - everybody likely had. One or two seasons in and he had already made an enemy but Elohim? No, he came looking for a friend.