"I said fucking move!"
Something hits you, knocking you into the dirty snow.
"Get your junkie ass out of here!"
A guy stands framed in the door above the vent. He just hit you with a bag of trash. At least it didn't burst.
"Final fucking warning." He reaches into the building he's in and grabs a length of rebar. You're too tired for this—you hurry away.
Though you try to focus on your reason for being here, your thoughts turn to tomorrow night—and not freezing to death. What if you're caught out here again? You know how to seek shelter in the wilderness—you think back to what your pack taught you shortly after your First Change.
Clay knew how to cultivate relationships with regular (if strange) people and to rely on them.
Scarper was always deadly serious, and knew how to survive however he could, whatever the cost.
Black Tarn knew that Garou and spirits could point you toward safety, if you respected their ways.
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