He could smell her. She was miles away, but it didn’t matter: he could assume any form, and many he routinely took were fast.
He crossed roads as a flash, jumped over walls a blur, going in stealth only where there were humans and lanterns. Even so it took hours to reach her Warren.
She was here, somewhere, hunting. He could smell her early kills: a rabbit and a bird, probably. He let out a long, slow howl, as was custom. He was in her franchise now, hoping for a welcome.
This is the way it has always been done.