The door quietly latched shut as Nate left the apartment. It was a little past midnight, there was no need to wake anyone at this hour. Sniffing the air, Nate allowed himself to relax slightly, no sign of the Wyrm anywhere around here. Sitting on the front porch, Nate stared up into the sky, gazing upon the stars above intently. For whatever reason, this action seemed to relax him. Whenever the hell of simply living seemed too much to handle, a few minutes staring into a clear night sky put Nate at ease. Feeling a little more calm, Nate got up and decided to take a walk around the block. This time, though, he made damned sure that he was constantly checking the winds for the scent of the Wyrm. So they had gotten the upper hand before, he didn't intend to let that happen again. Seras said it was just proof that he needed to stay near the rest of the pack at all times. Feh, you'll sooner nail down fog and keep it put than stop a Silent Strider from wandering.

So, the question now is where should he wander off to? Damon's? Nate felt an involuntary shiver go through him. For whatever reason, he didn't feel at all comfortable there. Why, exactly, he didn't know...

Weaver

What? Nate rubbed his head impatiently. The little voice inside, a voice which talked even less than he did, had decided to speak up again. Weaver? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Nate tried to think, but couldn't find anything to connect the word 'Weaver' to. Something to do with spiders? But why had the word popped up when he was thinking about going over to Damon's place? Maybe he should ask her about this 'Weaver' thing? Still though, her apartment was not comfort inspiring. The machinery, the technology, all crammed together, it was all so...alien to him. Technology changed, it changed far too rapidly. It grew and expanded like a cancer. Sure, it was supposed to be doing good, but the dull pounding in his left leg, the pain which even now gave him a slight limp, gave Nate enough proof that technology was simply too risky and dangerous for his tastes.

Continuing on his little walk, Nate once again began to feel relaxed. Unlike the sun, the stars didn't burn his rather sensitive skin. The moon, though bright, didn't blind him with a fiery radiance, even if its signature metal did burn him. Nate stopped and sniffed again, no Wyrm. Good. Now almost all the way around the block, Nate came across an iron fence. Something about the way the five foot steel posts came to rather sharp points drew Nate's attention. A five foot length of steel, with a sharp point on the end...that could be quite a useful weapon. Much better than the half-rate filth that was sold at the...'mall', Seras called it. Nate blinked, it could be a good weapon!

Nate looked about. No one was around, no scent of the Wyrm could be found, and the moon, for the moment, was hidden behind some clouds. It was dark, silent, and Nate was the only one around. As Nate began to grow, white hair sprouting from his skin, changing into the form he was born with, his natural form, he reached forward and grabbed one of the fence-posts. Giving it a good yank, the steel ripped away from the frame with a slight snapping sound. Nate quickly changed back to his human form, looking about to see if anyone had seen him. The people back in the land he was born, Romania, simple people who were already used to the presence of the supernatural reacted badly enough when they saw him in his natural form. Nate could just imagine the reactions of the humans around here, people who seemed hell-bent on isolating themselves from anything spiritual, if they saw him.

Nate turned and began walking back towards the apartment, with a new crude, yet effective spear in his hands. Somehow, it made him feel far more comfortable. He now felt more than capable of taking on any Black Spirals that tried to hurt him, like they had when...when...when they...

Nate stopped. His eyes widened at the sudden revelation. The Black Spirals hadn't hurt him! Not even once! Back at the motel in Antiga, none of them had outright attacked him. Sure, the two at the door had been firing in his direction, but they were firing blindly, they weren't aiming at him. And as for the one with that Harkonan thing, he hadn't been trying to hit Nate either. Nate stood still for a few minutes, trying to work this new information out. The pair that had attacked him at the mall, they could have easily killed him at several different times, yet they didn't. In fact, they seemed to be only trying to keep him from attacking them. They hadn't hurt him at the mall, it was the bullets fired by his own packmate that had hurt him.

They aren't your enemy

The voice again. The voice in his head. This time, though, Nate had to admit that the evidence was on its side. Sure, everyone kept saying that the Spirals were evil and bad, and all that, but all the injuries Nate had sustained upon coming here were at the hands of those who try to kill off the Black Spirals. For the moment, Nate decided he should keep this to himself. What if the Black Spirals weren't the enemy? They certainly weren't Nate's enemy, in fact, they were the ones that had saved his life so many years ago. Nate began to wonder, what would happen if, instead of charging blindly into battle, Nate simply tried talking to them? Sure, the Litany said something about fighting the Wyrm at all times, but then again, the Litany also said that Garou like Nate weren't allowed to be created. If the Litany was obviously wrong about the latter, why should Nate trust what it says about the former?

Nodding to himself, Nate continued back to the apartment with a new resolve. He kept smelling for the presence of the Wyrm, but now, it wasn't to avoid it. Next time, Nate would try simply talking to them, perhaps they could answer some of the questions that no one else seemed to be able to. Why did they save his life so many years ago? What was so important about Nate that they'd rather try to capture him than kill him? What happened during the several years that were missing from Nate's memory? What was the meaning of the symbol on his arm, a symbol that only appeared when touched by blood that was drawn by silver?

Still, though, secrecy would be necessary. From what he had seen from the other Garou around here, thinking of the Black Spirals as anything less than a bitter enemy was the equivalent of heresy, and attempting to talk to them? Very well, then, Nate was good at keeping secrets, he'd had a lifetime of practice. Nate continued home, new spear in hand.