Sonia rolls her eyes, grinning. "Thank the Gods you're here to provide us with sensible leadership, mortal. I'd been about to commission a marching band."
"Fritz," Max says, nodding to the smaller werewolf. "You're the quietest hunter in the pack." He points to a row of shrubberies lining the wall just past the gates. "You think you could lead us through there without getting spotted?"
Fritz nods, his eyes narrowing as he examines the path. "Stay close," he says, crouching down low. The rest of you follow suit, on the basis that it might help.
What follows is several minutes of standing extremely still followed by sudden instances of rapid, yet silent, movement. Fritz shifts along the ground so quietly that the rustling of leaves under your own feet sounds almost deafening. But there are no cries of alarm, no demands to know what the hell you're doing in the greenery. No one knows that you're there.
After a few more minutes, you emerge near a large shed, which the seven of you duck behind.
"Nice work," Max says, nodding approvingly at Fritz, who's unable to conceal a faint proud smile.
"All right," Sonia says. "Where to first?"