The problem with being on the right track toward a Garou settlement is that you keep getting onto the wrong track. Werewolves don't build a lot of walls, but they know how to shape paths that veer subtly away from places they want to protect.
You spend hours getting subtly veered. It's infuriating. Worse: that thing that ambushed you earlier is following you. Or something is, something that's always just out of sight. You keep checking your maps, but you can't see where you're going wrong. You only make progress when the contour of the woods encourages you to head downslope, and you instead defiantly turn ninety degrees and walk up a hill.
Directly ahead: an abandoned ATV half-buried in a snowdrift. A leather glove lies nearby, its back covered in a design you don't recognize: some kind of crowned dragon in…the sun? Almost certainly not Garou. When you turn it over, you realize there's still a hand in it. You hastily back away. Looking around, you find a stick, kick some snow off it, and use that to turn it over and conduct a quick search. Nearby: a .38 revolver, rusted beyond hope of repair, a bronze sword so thick with verdigris that it looks like moss, and a wallet. The wallet has $7, two gas cards, and a card from Banicki Gunworks. The gunworks might have provided weapons to the Broad Brook Garou. Maybe you should check that place out next. The wallet also has a Forbes library card with name: Harmonie Palys. If you manage to meet any other Garou here, they might want to know about this. But though you range back and forth for more than an hour, you can't find more signs of fighting or habitation.
You head downslope and find yourself standing over a half-frozen bog: a maze of tiny islands and hillocks, surrounded by gelid black water. A badly defaced standing stone rises crookedly out of the mud. The air is warm with rot, and flies buzz lazily through the warm air.
The warm, stinking air. You recognize that smell.
You recognize the meat.
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