Alan's nose twitched as he lay in the corner of the central chamber, his unconscious form laid upon a raised shelf of stone, wrapped up like a cocoon in the wool blanket he had arrived with. Nares flaring, his body seemed to rise to a sitting position without the mind inside being awake. Another sniff or two, and the young man's eyelids raised with about as much expediency as an iron castle portcullis. A pair of green eyes stared into space lazily as Alan fought for lucidity, blinking often to try and soothe their bloodshot whites. Sleep had not been coming easily to Alan for quite some time, as indicated by the darkness about his eyes. The cold was not to blame, however. In fact, Alan had always enjoyed cooler temperatures. The general anxiety that had been plaguing him since his changing certainly had something to do with it, and having to sleep on stone covered with some pine bows certainly did not help. Though he slept better in cooler temperatures when he did manage to sleep, the cold made him sluggish and slow to rise. After a few minutes of procrastination Alan untangled himself from the blanket and rose to his feet, drawing the blanket about his shoulders as he trudged toward the scent of the kill. Right then, he would have gladly kicked a box of kittens for a hot cup of coffee.<br/><br/>Rubbing his eyes, Alan did not even need to look at the figures huddled about the fire as he approached. Even though his time with the pack had been short, he already had unconsciously began to recognize them by scent just as much as by sight. Another twitch of the nose as he softly sniffed filled him in on all present company before his eyes adjusted. Leaning on the wall a couple of paces from the fire, Alan had noted the absence of a few, having completely slept through the howl that had raised the alarm. He would have asked, along with greeting them with a 'good morning' and a congratulations on the kill, but something in the air that hung over the group kept him silent.<br/><br/>Eying the kill longingly, part of him wanted to boldly waltz right in and take what he wanted, the others be damned. That part of him Alan quickly crammed back into it's box as soon as he felt himself take a step forward. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a deep breath, easing himself back against the wall of the cave. Everybody was already on edge lately, things that happened before his arrival, things that approached that nobody seemed to want to fill him in on, thoughts of all of it looming over them. He would not allow the beast inside of him to upset what remained of the pack's calm, not after these people took him in so graciously. He would ghost about the edge of the circle huddled about the fire until he was invited in.<br/><br/>This had been the norm for him since his arrival... even though he had been here for more than a couple of weeks now, these people still felt like complete strangers to him. Many had known each other for a fair amount of time already, and it felt as if he was an intruder in their social dynamic. He had yet to step on any toes, and thought himself to be on decent terms with everybody, but he still felt a bit removed from all of them. Part of this stemmed from his refusal to transform, which limited his ability to contribute to the group when it came to hunting. Alan helped wherever and whenever he could, collecting firewood, helping to clean hides, but he never thought it enough. They probably thought of him as the weakest there, and in truth he was... He even felt slightly guilty at times eating their food when he himself had only caught a single rabbit in his whole time here.<br/><br/>The wolf in him did not like that one bit. It rattled the bars of its' proverbial cage, cursing Alan's weakness and demanding to be let out to prove just whom they were dealing with. Between walking on eggshells with his social interactions with the pack, and the beast within always trying to break out, it was no wonder Alan had bags under his eyes. That was fine with Alan... The discomfort of not feeling like he was pulling his weight paled in comparison of the horrible sensation he felt during his turning, of desperately fighting for control of his body and losing.<br/><br/>Just the thought of it made him shudder. Drawing the old wool blanket tightly about his shoulders, he bided his time, watching Kakasha work with a healthy dose of respect and envy of her skill. He knew how to clean and dress game, but his work was rough. Perhaps part of that might have to do with the fact that the massive bowie sheathed at his belt was probably not the best tool for the job, especially on smaller animals. It could have worked on this stag though, and he mentally went over the steps in his head as he watched the master at work, his mouth watering all the while.