Presence
Hitching with truckers works out alright if you're patient. Dirt Nap is that if nothing else. All the way back from Houston. He has had a lot of practice now, subsisting on trickles of blood from small animals, calling them to him, finding them almost anywhere on short notice. Existing on 'snacks', a bite here, a bite there.
Once he reaches the barrens, he walks the rest of the way, feeding on rats, filling up like a human at a free continental breakfast of bite sized sausages.
The Chapter House seems empty, or at least much more empty then when he left. Blackbird's presence still haunts it. He doesn't go in. He spends the night in the ground. He listens to the whispers of the rats and mice and cats and dogs and birds. The Predators are gathering.
He reconnects with his Herd, the horses he has trained, owned by clients, but possessed by him. He earns enough for a rented tuxedo. For the Formal Court.
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