Julien sucks in a breath. His skin is very thin, very soft, and radiates heat like he has a distressingly high fever, but is dry, nonsweating. He bleeds freely for a couple of seconds, tapering off as the hole closes again.

"When did you... when did you?" Wincing he lets his head fall back to the tiles. The peak of the keel on his breastbone is higher now, straining pale against his skin. His chest is wider, rounder. Along his sides goosebumps are becoming pimply-looking pinfeathers, just starting to break the skin.