[ He tries to lift the creature—the alien, he reminds himself, this is a real alien—as smoothly and slowly as he can; who knows how it might panic if he suddenly swoops it up like an owl would? Even through the trembling of his own hands in their thick cotton wrappings, he's able to recognize the quivering of the small body they hold, and it gives him pause—perhaps it's finally shivering after hours in the cold, but there's also the possibility that it's looking at him with fear. It, an extra-terrestrial, afraid of him—but it is in a weakened state, and further, it knows something about him that Konstantin doesn't. It knows he's different than the humans it killed.
There's a chill, to that thought. A sudden awareness of his own otherness that he pushes to the side after a split second. He has to focus on this, and it could suddenly panic at any moment and try to get away from him and hurt one or both of them in its fear.
After what feels like an eternity, he sets the creature down on the mattress beside Konstantin's head and slowly slides his hands out from under it. He exhales, stiffness leaving his chest, and takes a generous step back. ]
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There's a chill, to that thought. A sudden awareness of his own otherness that he pushes to the side after a split second. He has to focus on this, and it could suddenly panic at any moment and try to get away from him and hurt one or both of them in its fear.
After what feels like an eternity, he sets the creature down on the mattress beside Konstantin's head and slowly slides his hands out from under it. He exhales, stiffness leaving his chest, and takes a generous step back. ]
Go. Go back inside.