The lair has a chill to it that has been getting more so with the passing of the nights. The passage of the days when he has rested has been fine but he knows he will have to find a warmer place soon or find a way to keep warmer. His pack members provided warmth by huddling and he knows he may have to call the others together before he is ready. The survival of the packs is paramount. Michael walks out into the familiar store proper heading towards the broken glass door and the night. The hunt and sating his hunger awaits. He notes, as he lopes down an aisle, that some of the objects on the shelves have fallen to the ground. He mistimes one of his steps and his foot comes down on a bag lying on the floor. The bag crunches under his step and, with a small popping sound, objects are thrown from it. He continues on toward the night’s hunt. A few steps later, a scent reaches his nose. It’s a new smell and one not altogether unpleasant. It’s not like the musty scent of prey but has a sweeter odor. Stopping, he looks back at the broken bag and the contents that are scattered on the floor. He walks back sniffing at the air. Kneeling, Michael picks up one of the objects and brings it to his nose. There is some familiarity associated with the small object he is holding in his hand, something that he feels he should remember but it hangs on the edge of understanding. He knows he should recall what this thing is but the more he thinks about it, the farther away the understanding retreats.
