Rowan discovered that the large snake's eyes had turned from a thin blue membrane to completely opaque white like a dead porcelain marble, void of any spirit. The scales on the body were a bit wrinkled, peeling at the edges, no longer sleek and shiny, looking dehydrated and withered, aged by a hundred years, like a hollow, rotten tree trunk.
Occasionally, Rowan would touch its scales, gently prying at a few pieces about to fall off, trying to seek the sensation that it was still alive and reacting. In truth, he didn't have many complex thoughts in his heart; he only feared what he would do if he woke up tomorrow and the large snake was stiff and cold; he didn't want to bury his mate so soon.
For the past few days, Owen had been on a hunger strike, not eating a bite of food or drinking a drop of water, determined to fast to prepare for the shedding process. Even intentional teasing words or poking and tickling from Rowan did not elicit much of a response.
