It is a long and bloody battle. Tom is sure of it as the time stretches on between the last sighting he has had of Morganna. He sits in waiting to be called, for those that need him. He adorns his black cloak and plays with the hoods feathers. It is cold, and he stands a moment watching his breath trail upward towards the sky. He blends well into the dark. He casts a warming charm onto himself to keep his familiar safe, as she twists tightly around his neck. Her yellow eyes gleam in the candle lights hanging by the barns. There is no sound but the reeds that dance in the wind. The moon is full and all the werewolves are safely tucked into the very barns he is by. Tom moved between them, his wand ready should there be an off chance that he needs to deflect one, that has skipped his careful administrations. He stalks around though the deeper reeds, kicking up the snows powder.