Oops, looks like you've come from the south. There are still two hours until sunrise, so you cross a road and then another, smaller one... 5? Or was it 10? You seem to have trouble with numbers. Maybe it's because you've never spent so much time as a wolf, or maybe it's because you're starving and freezing, but your mind isn't working right.
You investigate the border between city and wilderness until you spot an open door in a building across from a bowling alley. It's dark and quiet, so you climb the stairs, find a bathroom, and reverse your metamorphosis, again calmly. The transformation is faster in the opposite direction, as your flesh settles into its natural configuration. When you check yourself in the foggy mirror, there's a bit of blood under your eyelids, but otherwise you're fine.
As you wipe the blood from your cheek, you contemplate the strange and often challenging intersections of your human ethnicity, your Garou nature, and what remains of the tribes. Garou tribes are not human families. The Black Lake said that tribes were like religions—in the confusing sense that sometimes you choose your gods and sometimes they choose you. For Clay, each tribe was a desire so strong that it took spiritual form in the form of a powerful Patron Spirit representing their values. And for Scarper, the Garou tribes were nothing more than street gangs, fighting over territory while an enemy army set up its artillery.
But most humans don't care about their gods, their desires, or their gangs. They see another human, and they see skin. So you can't help but wonder who you are to them, and what that means to you.