<hr/><div align="center"><em>Autolycus prepares to examine the Pict <br/>Infirmary</em></div><hr/><br/>Finally, she collapsed. He watched her, lying there, observed the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her face, no longer twisted in a snarl. It was a pretty face. And she seemed smaller now, delicate and harmless. He approached the cage and kneeled before it, reaching through the bars to feel the heartbeat in her neck. Touching her for the first time. Her pale skin felt no warmer or colder than any other skin… Why had he expected different?<br/><br/>Standing, Autolycus opened the cage and gathered the Pict in his arms.<br/><br/>Soon he had her on his operating table, leather straps holding her firmly in place just to be safe.<br/><br/>He got out a wax tablet and wrote on it with his stylus.<em>Pict. Female</em>He looked up, his eyes roamed over her body, then he added a couple more notes, estimating age, height, weight. He put the tablet and stylus down.<br/><br/>Breathing in, he laid a hand on Sorcha’s arm, marveling at being able to do so without consequence. Like touching some live wild animal. Leaning forward, he brushed the greasy, matted black hair from her face. One eyelid twitched in dream and wondered, briefly, what one such as her would dream about.