Only the Moon Howls
Daken had walked into Yosemite National Park in the dead of night under a new moon, with the sole intent of tracking down Sabertooth and having a...heh... pointed chat.
He walked out again a month later, new moon, grumpy and with leaves in his hair. Sabertooth was still unchatted, and Daken was not, in fact, convinced he was even in the park. It was not often his intel was wrong, but he supposed there had to be moments to keep him humble.
He’d located the town weeks ago by the slight glow of streetlights through the trees; it was just outside the park and likely a good point to stop and get a bath or food. He’d headed there as soon as he’d given the search for Creed enough of his time.
First thing, he rented a room at the motel, and second, he took a shower. Then he decided to channel his inner Logan and find a drink. There was only one bar, so that made the choice easy.
He wandered in out of the dark into the not much better-lit interior, and sidled up to the bar to order, ignoring the stares. “Some sort of beer, please,” he asked to the bartender. “Surprise me as to which.”
