Gregor flicked his torch this way and that while he inspected the bark of the trees that surrounded them while they walked. The night was smothering beneath the canopy of the woodland and it was only by the grace of the firelight that he could see. The whole situation reminded him terribly of a particular lycanthropian hunt several years ago -- Gregor didn't care to remember how many -- further north, near Couronnesbourg. The land had been marshier and the trees sparse, which allowed Gregor to hunt by the moonlight that fueled the creature's bestial phase, but still. 

Loka's question interrupted his reverie. "Werewolves are... not subtle. The transformation is painful and the unnatural urge to kill, maim and devour is overwhelming. They leave devastation in their wake wherever they go. Help me look for claw marks in the bark, or even trees that have been torn down entirely," Gregor replied in an equally hushed voice. "And warn me if you smell a wet dog."