Liam is fifteen again. He hesitates, scalpel poised above the dead cat. Truthfully, he doesn't understand why he is doing this. He wants to be a scholar and a mage, not a healer.
"A problem, Highness?"
Liam blushes. "N-no, Master Arvid."
"Good. Now get on with your dissection."
Liam remembers the perfectly detailed diagram of cat anatomy in one of his books. Couldn't he just study that instead? He silently curses Harailt of Aili for requiring all students to take anatomy.
"Don't be such a girl," his neighbor whispers.
Liam notes with a smile that, for all his bravado, Thom's hand shakes as he makes the first cut.