37 - 12 - Senses

And then, finally, my head began to shift and reshape. From an almost circle to an almost oblong. Pinkish skin turned black and sprouted the whitish, hollow tubes that are the polar bear's hairs. Miniature greenhouses, conducting warmth to my heat-absorbing black skin.

My eyes stayed pretty much where they were, facing forward. Sight was about the same. Better than my grizzly morph. Hearing? No big deal.

But smell! Now that was amazing. Smells meant food. And food meant . . .

Meat. Close by. Only just beyond that concrete-and-brick wall. No problem.

<So, think they picked up Mickey D's on the way in?> Marco, now fully polar bear, swung his football-shaped head from side to side, inhaling through his smallish black nose.

<You know, I think I smell a Filet-O-Fish.> said Cassie. <I've always had a secret love of the Filet-O-Fish sandwich...>