Even though Alastor did his best to subdue Sahalie's concerns about this newer, funner, more-likely-to-kiss-strangers version of herself, the whole thing was hard to put behind her over the course of sleep. She told herself not to think about it, not to get mad about this Kissing business, but it was hard to think of anything else. A teenage girl, after all, commonly gave a good percentage of her mind to kissing—at least, normal ones. Sahalie had tried to stay away from all the silly things her mind had tempted her with over the last few months, and she had done a good job until this childish half-romantic encounter was staring her in the face. The girl told herself not to be mad, not to hold it against this girl—Castel—because she would have no idea that Alastor was... that Alastor was.
That Alastor was what?
This was an even more confusing question, and Sahalie shoved it aside in favor of the more mature, more shocking proposal her friend had made last night. The more she thought about it, the more silly she felt for never having considered creating her own pack. If pack's like Alastor's birth pack could whittle away to nothing and Gent could simply move all his wolves wherever he wanted, surely she could just... she could do it. But how? Where? Her heart longed for Oak Tree Bend but that was off the table. And it was so far away. She had come so far already—she couldn't turn back.
"So where is she?" Sahalie said, looking around at the rolling, empty white hills.