It was his first time in Pawtuckaway; he'd never seen a New England town or a New England caern like this out here in Walden country; Thoreau would have approved of the tranquility of the unspoiled nature of the place.

After his greeting howl, he was approached by the warder, an older fellow named Aidan Samhain-Born who looked like he'd bought into the hippie thing a little too much, except for the leather boat shoes -- that was not very West Coast at all. The guy was reddish-brown going gray, but seemed happy to meet him, "Well, a young lad out and about, and you say you have a message for our Gatekeeper, do you? Well, we can get to that and then I'll guide you in for a little hospitality from the sept." 

The whole thing struck Nakhti as a little too relaxed -- but he was also young and so held his tongue; the security might be in layers around the place that he wasn't even aware of. Not all Ahroun probed and thought through problems, but the ones that did were like Nakhti and looked for vulnerabilities the way a raven looked for something shiny. Such things caught their eye immediately. But he was of a close-mouthed tribe that tended to mind the courtesies, so he instead replied, "My respects, Aidan Samhain-Born, I would appreciate the hospitality of the sept." Of course, the whole thing had a little too much of the kumbaya ambience to it. Sure, a caern was supposed to be a place of spiritual restoration and refreshment, safety in an increasingly hostile world, but it really looked, to the life of him, that the Warder here was a bit too snug here. Perhaps that was his wanderer's blood crying out to find the road again, or his warrior's spirit crying to hunt. But he followed the man along where he led, figuring to at least spend a day before moving on.

The old Garou was about to say something more, tip of his tongue, when his mouth clamped shut and the jaw went tense; that'd be the sight of Michelle, skulls swinging off a rope.

Aidan didn't seem to like the sight, but Nakhti found himself intrigued -- maybe Pawtuckaway had something more to the liking of the young warrior than a drum circle and pot smoking.