[b]Dyssia![/b]

There is a stirring, deep in your coils.

“It’s okay. It helped me put my thoughts in order.”

Scales sensitive to heat, to pressure, to vibration, to moisture, all work in concert to paint you a picture of whatever little creature you’ve got wrapped up tight. He’s drawing full breaths now. His throat’s a bit scratchy. His face is dry. His arms are wrapped tight around a book, his copy of the ancient instructions, hugging it to his chest with what strength he’s got. All the rest of him is obediently limp.

“I wish I could stay here.”

All of him burns. Or has been burning. Or has burnt. It’s difficult to tell.

“I wish I’d found this place and these people sooner.”

He will not run. He cannot struggle. If released, he would stay where he fell. This is a creature run down to exhaustion. This is a creature who knows their place.

“All of this is for the sake of the prisoners here. All of it is for them. But they’re not supposed to stay here forever. They get to leave. It wouldn’t be right, otherwise.”

“Not everybody can leave, or run away to someplace better. Not everybody can build a home where they’ve been born. Please, if you can, could your wish account for those people too?”

He is remembering. 

He is wishing.

He is burning.

The conclusion is so obvious, perhaps your tail is already at work. A coil or two around sheep and book to take the strain off his arms. Gentle squeezes all over, slowly working up and down. He must be kept here. He must be held tight. He must never think he is alone.