As they unpacked their supplies Dan quietly left the kitchen. Nika carefully unpacking a bag; Micky scrounging for a snack; Rem chiding him for it. I all seemed so normal. . . so human. It felt surreal to Dan. He was the newest member of the pack, and although they didn't treat him differently, he felt out-of-place, He was used to sleeping under the stars, running through the snow, hunting for his food. Here they had beds, and cars, and kitchens.<br/><br/>He made his way up the stairs to his room. It was a sparse dwelling, furnished with a bed and a bookshelf. Crossing the clothes strewn floor he pick up the battered guitar and strummed a few chords, but soon put it down. He was restless. The thought of his previous pack pushed its way forcefully into his mind. Their fate was his fault. His father had come looking for him, along with several soldiers, And although he escaped, the world was 12 wolves less.<br/><br/>Dan came back downstairs, and made for the door. Once outside he made his way to the back of the cabin. He took off his shirt, allowing the cool wind blowing across smooth scar-tissue in his side. Unlike Micky he couldn't shift his clothes, so he hung it on a nearby branch. Since he had been with this pack he remained mostly human, and he missed the feeling of grass under his paws. He wanted to run, to burn through his restless energy. He took off in the direction of the forest, his clothes waving their goodbye in the wind.