A Long and Winding Road

It'd been a long, exhausting journey, crammed into aluminum tubes that hurtled down the scorching black roads with the reek of apes all around him. It only took a few hours to adjust to this environment after leaving the stop before Cloud stopped having the urges to jump out the window, but eventually he felt fine, and the three-days' journey continued on without incident. Except, of course, for the bus breaking down just past Tulsa, it went by quickly, but the lupus was relieved when he finally got to escape into the relatively-free air again.

The sign above the door said 'Welcome to New Albany', just beneath the sleek figure of the greyhound, and as he wandered away down the sidewalk, he dug a folded scrap of paper from his pocket and studied it. It was a map and some directions to the only Uktena he'd been able to learn about in the area; someone named Micheal. The jet-haired man shrugged the backpack higher on his shoulders and then headed off to try and find the house of this Micheal, hoping to find a friend who could link him with more of his garou brothers and sisters.

(His home sits back near the border of Newalbany. Away from prying eyes, a nice secluded area. All that's needed really is a walk up to the door and knock. No walking through town and searching or anything.)

After wandering the streets of the river-bordered city for a long while, Cloud finally finds himself at the address scratched onto the note. Walking up the steps of the home, he reaches out bangs on the door a few times with the side of his fist.

Movement is heard from within the home and within a few moments the door opens and a tall, very large man comes out. His black hair is tied back by a headband and his clothes are relatively loose hanging. He is looking behind him as he opens the door, "I'll be right back."

He looks out at his visitor, "Can I help you?"

Sniffing the air slightly, the short Native man nods his head slightly and shows the other man the note, which has a little glyph drawn in pencil towards the center, almost hidden in the other writing. "I am Cloud," he says, "I've come here to learn and to help."

The guy nods slightly, "Your of the tribe of the Water-spirit?"

He leans against the door frame.

"Yes," the short native replies, looking over the man. He sniffs the air, though it seems to be more of a habitual thing, as he certainly doesn't get the information he was looking for, "You are Mike? I was given your address. I am glad to be your guest, and I thank you for being host." Cloud pauses, glancing at the leather satchel in his hand and then at the taller man, "I am hungry, and I need a nap before I do anywhere else."

Micheal stares blankly at the guy before stepping back out of the doorway.

"Uh.... Yes, sure come in."

Micheal turns and walks down the hallway a short way into a small-ish living connected to a kitchen. A vaguely Native American woman with pink striped bleach-blonde hair is standing above a pot stirring something. Her stomach is round with late-pregnancy.