((Gonna timeskip forward a bit to preserve the timeline.))
Ural had been moving for several hours. Like a single entity the Pack moved through the snowy trees of the forest, a set of blurring shapes flashing. A sound like rolling thunder echoed before them that would make even the most experienced werewolf hunter cringed. There was no need for stealth, no need for subtelty, as the werewolves were the lords of this terrain. Without a word they followed the actions of their leader, conveyed through the reading of slight markings in his body language, a secret tongue instinctive to the beasts that could almost be considered as effective as telepathy. Occasionally a short directive was barked out as Magnus, hindered by his lack of knowledge in this secret, instinctual language 

The jet that had brought Magnus here, while faster than even these beings could move by far, didn't have nearly enough room to store the entirety of the pack. Furthermore, werewolves had a disdain for such flying equipment, a trait derived from their strong connection to nature and the wilds. They secluded themselves from civilisation and technology, forging a barbaric culture of their own in order to keep themselves as strong as possible. This gave them incredible knowledge of woodland areas, survival skills, and tested their combat skills on a daily basis, allowing them to test their strength and endurance against mother nature herself, forging them into dangerous opponents. Of course it also had a side effect of making them far less apt with technology, and most werewolves didn't even use weaponry, instead far preferring to rely on their claws and thick hide. They are also possessed of a keen fear of aviation.

As one, the Pack halts. Although it had taken some time, they had traveled a vast distance, although the marathon runner build of wolves gave werewolves the stamina to make such long distance runs. Ural turned his head to the out-of-breath vampire, smug as he had shown off just how well his pack was in it's element moving through the wild forests and mountain landscapes where they had lived their entire lives. "We have reached an area quite close to Kilo Point. I can smell the machinery in the air, even from over here. The pollution is suffocating." Ural turned his head as several of his werewolves stood aside for a new one to pass. Without words other than slight body movements and eye gestures, the new werewolf, which seemed to have come from the direction of Kilo Point, handed over an angular package wrapped in wolf's pelts. He held it with great caution and a slight bit of fear, and then wordlessly rejoined the masses as Ural prepared to once more move out.