Letitia has turned on the wipers.
It has been a long night.
Wittgenstein and Katherine are in the front, with Letitia.
Gaius sits in the back, with Terence, the frogs and Roo-kai.
Terence is drawing a picture of pants, for the knowlesi.
See, says Terence. Two legs, joined together. Otherwise they're only long socks.
Like these, says the knowlesi.
It flexes its leg casts.
Don't bend them, says Gaius.
I'm not, says the knowlesi.
You are, says Gaius. It isn't your fault, those silicone straws are quite bendy.
Want us to sit on them? asks Quiet-Tartus.
No thanks, says the knowlesi.
May I have the pencil back, Terence? asks Gaius.
Terence gives him the pencil.
I want to make a a quick sketch of the knowlesi, says Gaius.
He starts making a sketch, using shading to indicate the dark patches on the back of the knowlesi.
The knowlesi watches.
Wouldn't a photo be better? asks the knowlesi.
Perhaps, says Gaius, If you hadn't broken your legs.
They're not broken, says the knowlesi.
Let us hope not, says Gaius.
When you're better, says Terence, you can join the team.
That's for us to say, says Shorty-Tartus.
The knowlesi cares little. It begins to look sleepy.
Gaius goes back to his drawing. He draws a black stripe from the tip of the snout of the knowlesi, running down to its arm, past the eye. He draws the eye, horizontal. The iris is golden in the upper half, in the lower half, brown.
He draws an arrow, pointing to the golden part of the iris. He does not have a golden pencil. But that doesn't matter. He writes the word 'golden'.
The wipers go back and forth: wipe-wup...wipe-wup...wipe-wup.
Hypnotic, says Katherine. She closes her eyes.
Wittgenstein is dozing already.
Gaius releases the pencil, and snores.
Terence takes the pencil and draws socks on the knowlesi.
Letitia drives on, trying to figure out how the night's unfoldings might fit into her thesis.
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