Ian spent most his days doing odd jobs; he could find something more stable but he didn't want to be tied down and moving about, doing odds and ends was his way of slowly networking. Over 100, he was well aware of the dwindling numbers of his race and wanted desperately to have a proper mate. Unlike the pack leader, he cared not where she came from, as long as she was fitting.<br/><br/>He was probably the least social and least bonded out of any of those in his group, as he was the last to join them. Still, family was the most important thing to him and they were, indeed, his family now. When he was born, female weres were still in the area and he had the honor of growing up with both parents. But that was far from here and over a century past, and now both his parents were dead.<br/><br/>He didn't waste his time thinking about the past, viewing it as "crying over spilled milk." Instead, he now focused on splitting firewood near the campgrounds. There was a certain... tension... about the place and the physical act of cutting wood helped him calm his own uneasiness.<br/><br/>When rich pulled up in the truck, he stuck the wood axe in a nearby stoop and moved to greet him. "How's it going?" he asked casually, shaking out his grayed black hair before putting it back in a tight ponytail once again.