Blood.
This wasn't the first time he had smelt it, his claws elongated as his bones ached, his body desperate to shift but just like every other time this has happened, he stayed in the same form…the weak form he now hated.
He raised his eyes to stare at the bars of his prison, they had rusted overtime…he wasn't sure how long he had been there but he knew it was long. A sigh left his lips, he wondered if death would finally take him, the scent of blood continued to flow through the air, tempting him, scaring him. He might be the next person to bleed, he might be the next person to die.
He got up from his sitting position as walked to the rusted iron bars, placing his palms on the rusted rods as he inhaled deeper, wondering if the scent would give him an idea…who was bleeding this time?
"315, get away from the bars"
