His cellmate was out, which suited Hiemal perfectly well.

All the while the man was out enjoying the fresh air he had their living quarters to himself. The door to the cell was locked, but should he request it a guard would open it for him and take him out to the courtyard or to the craft workshop. Just at the moment however he was quite content sitting at his desk with a large piece of paper and a stick of graphite. There was a clutch of eggs drawn in the centre of the page, and the small blond had just started writing notes on them.

New experiences were always to be treasured, and thoroughly analysed.

Hiemal may or may not have been so busy analysing that he forgot all about the existence of lunch.