[He looks upwards at the night sky, saying a silent prayer while seeking out patience. God give him the strength not to rip out the wolf's throat and drink his blood. There's a sigh that comes out more like a groan, his only acknowledgement that Derek might have a point.

He pulls his motorcycle over to the curb, killing the engine, and hopping off. He's too proud to actually say Derek's right, so he just jumps on ahead in the conversation.]

You'll be better at finding him than I will with that nose of yours. He, uh, hasn't been bathing the past couple days 'n smells like it.