Trey walked along the streets with his hands in the pockets of the oversized jacket he wore. Despite his teenaged body, he felt more akin in age to the stone structures that filled the center of this French town. Maybe that wasn't a true analogy, but he couldn't say exactly how old Calais was in the first place with it's mix of ancient structures and those newly built after the last war razed it to the ground. Once, a long time ago, he saw Calais from the other side of the strait of Dover, looking a bit like a shining jewel in a sunset. He never intended to get this close again.

It happened a bit by accident he supposed. For many years, Japan was his home, but at the start of World War two, Trey found refuge among the islands north of Europe. The world mostly left him alone there, but Trey hated the cold and left as soon as the world calmed itself. Food there tasted lean, like the people the blood came from.

Lifting his head to scent the wind, he revealed the small fangs in his mouth. This city was nothing but lean. No matter how hard he tried to stay away from this corner of Europe, he went and walked right into it. Did his feet know the way even if he never walked here before? Trey never actually set foot in France until now, only saw it from across the water. Catching the scent of a healthy male out late for a smoke and stroll, he changed his course toward the watch tower. Maybe he just missed humans despite not being one himself. They called to him with their warm blood and he didn't care enough about them not to follow.

Feet almost silent on the pavement, he went to feed.