Rich had closed up the bookstore about an hour ago, relieved to be outside at last. He was heading toward the forest to spend some time meditating, contemplating, and perhaps writing, and a cool breeze that ruffled his thick hair made him whine softly as he resisted the urge to transform and run. The sound of howling sent a chill down his spine and reminded him that he was walking straight into harm's way. Still, the forest called to him, and how could he resist, after being cooped up in a book store all day? 
_Just be careful,_ he told himself. _You've been out here before, for days on end, and they haven't found you yet._ He pushed a vague longing to the back of his head, chose a small, quiet clearing and sat down. His eyes shifted quickly; he was on the alert for trouble because those howls had sounded close by.