You decide it's best to go for the flashlight, suspecting you must have gotten disoriented when you stumbled and banged your knee. You pause, still hearing the simmering soup sound beneath the now steady drum of the rain.

It's just a guess, a sense of your own surroundings, an instinct that sends you in the direction of where you know the den should be in relation to the sounds.

If you could only find something you can definitely recognize, like a chair or a table, or sofa, or, a bed?