Andy was unconscious, exhausted by the massive adrenalline rush that had accompanied his climb. His hands and feet were now bare, pointing up the differences between his hands and feet, and those of regular humans. The back of his shirt was a wreck, the cloth ripped and torn by the Hive Tyrant's lash, and slicked with a large patch of blood and sweat, which in the moonlight looked black against the lighter shirt material.<br/><br/>The fur and skin underneath showed a cruel, bloody weal, the edges of the fur soaked and matted with the same blood and sweat as the shirt. While the wound would heal fully, given proper attention, it was almost certain he'd have a scar, darker tissue and whitened fur, for the rest of his life. His computer was still secured in his packet, the knife in it's leg sheath, and the gourd was hung around his neck.<br/><br/>If you looked close, you could see his closed eyes flickering with the movements of REM sleep, as he dreamed...<br/><br/>(OOC: If you want to fix him up, I'd suggest going downstairs where the is at least some more light. He's likely to be unconscious for the next couple of days of real time, as I'm going to be away this Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and out of range of a computer. I'll try and post tonight.)