<hr/><div align="center"><em>Autolycus begins to get carried away<br/>Infirmary</em></div><hr/><br/>Autolycus was already excited, fascinated by this creature from the far North but now... Her quick breathing, her trashing, her nakedness… Now she started to affect him in new ways. A warm, prickly feeling underneath his skin, a tightening in his belly and in his loins. He was suddenly all-too aware she was not just an interesting specimen but a woman. A healthy, warm, living, breathing woman. Completely at his mercy and, yes, she even seemed willing. Mandragona. Of course. He’d heard it could have that effect.<br/><br/>His own breathing quickened as he watched her. Options began to present themselves to him. He might… he could… He shook his head. Ran a hand through his hair and beard, feeling frustrated. That would be wrong. He tore his eyes away, forced himself to scribble a few words on the wax tablet. Loose phrases to document his findings, a drawing of one of the more interesting tattoos. He looked at her again, still thrashing, gasping.<br/><br/>Gods… It seemed almost like she was doing it on purpose.<br/><br/>And then a new option presented itself. He could wash her. She was filthy, covered in sweat and dirt, grime and blood. Yes, it would only make sense to wash her before returning her to her cage.<br/><br/>Autolycus threw the stylus down and went to retrieve the bucket of water and sponge he'd used on Cariad before.<br/><br/>Thrusting his hand into the cool water he retrieved the soaked sponge, held it over Sorcha’s naked form and squeezed, watching the water as it splashed unto her belly and he felt his manhood harden in response. It strained against the rough fabric of his tunica as he lowered the sponge and proceeded to wash every inch of her.