Shrouded in the foliage that has grown rampant, such as bushes and moss and even while trees sliding from slits inbetween the chiseled stone, Sawyer stalks as the Night pack moves through the streets, open, vulnerable. Sawyer's mind practically bursts with strategies, flanks, and weak points in their curcular formation, all guarding a leader, obviously someone of importance. Sawyer smirks as the perfect idea flashes across his mind, and he holsters his shotgun, crouched, moving towards the pack who are now aware of Sawyer's presence, they just do not know where. (open to everyone)