Chapter 6: Aiden

The flight is nine hours of hell. I never want to set foot on an airplane ever again. Werewolves are not meant to fly. The change in air pressure is screaming agony. being shut in a metal box, stinking of recycled air, blasted with the wails of over-excited and over-tired kids, jostled by overcrowded humans, constantly reining myself in over and over and over... it's only by the thinnest line of sanity that I manage to keep control of myself and Frost.

The first thing... no, the second thing I do is in London is to scoop my guitar case and hug it close. The first thing is to break a few land speed records getting as far away as possible from that flying metal Purgatory. As soon as I've checked that my guitar is undamaged, I'm out of there. I snarl at a few people to get a good place in the queue for “Nothing to declare,” and ruthlessly crush Frost's urging to just claw my way to freedom.

The airport has its own subway station, except they call it 'The Underground' here. It's a mixed blessing. It gets me on my way quickly, but I haven't had an unobstructed sight of the sky or a breath of outdoor air in far too long. I've been questioning myself for hours already, and now the urge is almost irresistible to just turn around, run back to Shining River and beg to be allowed into the Pack again. My tumultuous emotions must be obvious, because even in the crowded subway car the humans somehow manage to leave a bubble of space around me.

I can't even begin to describe how much of a shock London streets are after growing up in a Pack house in the middle of a forest. All I'd really experienced during my journey was the inside of busses, the subway, stations, the airport and the airplane, all shielding me from the surrounding city noise and crowding humanity. As I stepped out of the subway car... I mean, the Underground carriage... it's like stepping into a thick soup of bodies and smells with a cacophony of noise battering at my sensitive ears. I can feel Frost panicking inside my head, desperate to run, to hide, to get away from the chaos and the din.

Somehow I keep control, gritting my teeth as I'm washed along in an ocean of humans, trying to avoid breathing because of the stink of too many people in too small a space. The maw of the Underground station vomits its crowd out onto the street outside, and in a way that's worse. The air here is thick with traffic fumes and people of all shapes, sizes and colours are scurrying in all directions, making me feel a bit dizzy.

I try to sooth both Frost and myself with the promise of a run in the peace and quiet as soon as possible, but I've got no idea whether I can keep that promise. London has parks, but from the maps it's not clear how open they are, whether there is anywhere for a wolf to run without being seen. There must be somewhere, even if I have to brave public transport again to get there.

I fumble an A to Z out of my pocket, the map book already well thumbed. My shoulder and pack are bumped as I study the map despite my having tucked myself into a corner. I let just enough of my wolf out to glare and snarl at the offenders and am rewarded with extra space that lasts all of five seconds. When I find the right page of the map it's a relief to learn that there's a small park not far from the art school. It won't be possible to go full wolf there, but it should be enough to calm Frost.

Then I need to go find the art school, and also figure out somewhere to sleep tonight. I can go to one of the larger parks and sleep as the wolf, if I have to, but I don't know if there are other werewolves here and if there are, whether there is any protocol for that sort of thing even though a public park is probably not claimed as territory. I don't even know how to recognise local territory markings, if there are any. It doesn't seem the sort of place where you can mark the borders by clawing trees and peeing on things.

It'll be better if I can find a room or something. Although the art school takes university-aged students, it'ds got no dormitories or halls of residence. Going by the brochure they sent me, most students live in shared housing. I've got no idea how I'd cope with sharing an apartment with humans. Humans who didn't know what I was, that I had to keep it a secret from. What else could I do though? Hope there were local werewolves who would permit an exile into their midst?

The little park turns out to be a tree-shaded rectangle with brick planters, fenced with spiky black cast iron. There are a couple of park benches, each of them with a little plaque attached with the bench donor's name engraved on it. The shrubs and trees help mask the sounds of the street beyond the fence, and the greenery makes the air a little fresher. I sit on one of the benches until Frost's frantic mental pacing calms into irritated grumbling. Frost is not a very talkative wolf, but he is very firmly and clearly letting me know just how little he thinks of this latest adventure.

Repeating my promise that I'd find somewhere for a run later, I heft my pack back onto one shoulder and start the walk to the art school. I don't get far before my path is blocked. Three men step out, one in front of me, the other two quickly flanking me with on either side. They are all a foot taller than me, muscled, shaven-headed and grim. The one in the middle flashes a knife.

“Give me your phone and your money,” he demands. “Now!”