Ankyra Sound Didn't it rain?

What differentiated one pack from another? Nothing, really. Honest. There was no rhyme or reason to Nails' march to the sea, nor did he have the privilege of picking Rusalka off of some grand list of prospective packs to join. He simply picked a direction and started walking after a brief and pleasant reunion with Thorn. Over mountain and valley Nails traveled -- weeks passed, and having been forced to scavenge like a coyote with no pack behind him, he grew thin. It was here, at some no named cove where the salt kissed the earth that Nails smelled the welcome scent of community and piss.

Mostly piss.

Beyond the border, caches innumerable surely lied. What use was rustling from one and risking life and limb when one could nab the whole kit and kaboodle by joining the gang? Symbiosis, or whatever. He lingered where the pack's scent was weak, unwilling to stray too far and overstay his welcome. He howled.