The middle of the night had Isaiah finally drifting off into sleep. Exhaustion had finally started to outweigh pain, and fatigue acted as a drug to help him forget his injury. Meanwhile, Fredrick sat at a table down stairs, slowly working to finish the sour wine that had been forced upon him not too long ago. A lot had been happening lately; more than the usual feuding and skirmishing that went on between the Assassins and the Templars. It was almost like everything up 'til now had been mere play, and things were finally starting to get serious.<br/><br/>Fredrick hadn't known Isaiah to make stupid mistakes like today. From how it sounded, he was lucky to escape with his life. Then again, he was the type to drag people into trouble, and perhaps he simply wasn't prepared to be dragged into trouble himself. But still, Fredrick got the feeling he'd been off focus. Isaiah told the story as if the girl wanted answers from him, but perhaps he wanted some answers from the girl as well.<br/><br/>A thought occurred to the Assassin and he glanced at a clock it was late-- very late, but Isaiah's burns were still fresh, and his bandages would need to be changed often. Fredrick wasn't a doctor, but he knew that things could get bad if you got a burn wound infected. There would be complaining, but he'd better go wake the man. Perhaps Isaiah would thank him later... in twenty years or so. Assuming either of them lived that long.