2

A little morbid, and perhaps old-fashioned, but it's important to know what you are. Gaia's death angel, enemy of the Wyrm and bringer of carnage and ruin.

A brief search in the back turns up some black jeans, a few old t-shirts from local Obama-era punk and metal bands, a spidery black sweater, and Doc Martens. But you can't dress like a California health goth in a Buffalo winter, so you also grab thermal undergarments, cold weather police gloves, and a puffy black coat that makes you look like either a space vampire or an ambulatory plastic trash bag, you can't decide. It's warm, though.

The clerk glares at you the whole time. The People of the Map will never trust you. Ignoring those hard, cold eyes, you also buy a lighter, some maps, a roll of toilet paper, and some plastic baggies in case the snow turns to rain. Then you pay and get dressed.

Okay, now you won't draw so much attention. You check your cash reserves. You've got enough money to take a bus across the state line. That's safe and reliable. And warm. Or you could try hitchhiking. That's risky, but you'd save money. Or you could Change. In wolf form, you could run and hunt during the day, seek shelter at night. That could be glorious, assuming you didn't freeze at night.

No risks—at least not on the way there. I take a bus.

I know my way around the world of petty crime and not-quite-crime. I can hitchhike without incident as long as I keep my wits about me.

I pay attention as I hitchhike the whole way there, watching for signs of weird or dangerous behavior.

I wrap up my modest supplies, then head into the woods and become a wolf, trusting to my endurance and survival instincts.

Next