Aeriel is still, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the lab, and scattered on the cold tile floor in front of her are the remains of her school, the strange and lovely creatures she has been nurturing and studying all semester-- rare and by most standards ugly, a dull gray color that blends into the rocky sand. There are not enough parts to be certain how many they were, how much of each remains.

A tall glass of cloudy water sits to one side, holding the last one alive-- and even that is listless, leaning in the water, one side unnaturally still.

She doesn't look up. Perhaps she did not hear him. Her hands are clasped in her lap, her clothes stained and wet.

And before her, on its table, is the tank, the water roiling and dark, strange shadows moving through the stirred-up sand.