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The world has changed and changed again. The Glass Walkers began as the Warders of Apes in the days of the earliest cities. Then they were the City Warders, then the Iron Riders, hunters on land and sea. When the cities rose, and rose, to blot out the moon, they became the Glass Walkers, and now they hunt boardrooms and chatrooms, making alliances with the machine spirits of the Weaver to fight the all-consuming annihilation represented by the Wyrm.

But they're not all corporate raiders and cyber-geeks. The fair trade coffee place that has the best roasts in town? The recording studio that pits spiritual yearning and technical mastery against soulless corporate tunes? Some of those places, too, have Glass Walkers watching over them, watched in turn by their patient and pitiless Patron Spirit, Spider.

The other tribes don't understand, of course. Isn't the Weaver an enemy, too? Hasn't she strangled the natural world in her webs, turning forest into tract housing, filling the sea with styrofoam and microplastics? Didn't she turn the limitless potential of "cyberspace" into a corporate panopticon in less than a generation? Maybe, but the Garou must fight a war in the terrain they have, not the terrain they want. And that terrain belongs to the Weaver.

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