The trip between had been maddening, even all the warnings and explanations that M'naz and Zana had tried to give him hadn't done it justice. It was cold, even more than the most bitter of winter nights in his den. In the black, cold, unfeeling space, Zohariel had felt his instincts kick in and he changed into his wolf form. Only the warning from Falaath to M'naz -who blindly clamped his arms around the squirming, yelping wolf- saved Zohariel's life. All this taking place in an endless expanse of a minute. Luckily, Zana had asked to carry Iven, for in Zohariel's moment of panic the poor creature would have been lost into oblivion.
At Kjanli'eyr he'd fallen to the ground and hugged it and Iven for a full five minutes before allowing himself to be led into the Eyr. "I think we should get you washed up." M'naz said. People were beginning to stare at his blood-stained shirt and matted hair, and out of the cold air, he was beginning to smell. After living as a wolf for the vast majority of his life, Zohariel's hair was almost down to his waist, dred-locked and tangled into a yellow-ish mess. They took him to a room with a large tub filled with hot water and he shed this clothes, little more that rags now, and zealously leapt into the water and began to scrub. He tried and failed to untangle his hair, someone's handmaiden came and helped him with that. Once it was all loose and clean, it was revealed to be snow white and down to his knees. Zohariel's mouth twitched in an ironic smile. The girl also offered to cut it, which he accepted. While still wet, she trimmed it up to his ears leaving it slightly lopsided, but better.
Once he'd thanked her and she'd left, Zohariel left the now-grimy water and dried off. Looking around the room he realized she'd left him some clean clothes, a pair of brown breeches, a dark blue tunic and a vest the same color as the pants. He dressed and re-filled the tub with cooler water to wash Ivenal'a. He violently resisted, tiny claws cutting Zohariel's skin. "Come on now, you needed a bath just a little less than I did." he soothed the now even more brilliantly red-orange creature while he dried him. It was still odd to hear his own voice. There was a knock at the door and Zohariel rose to answer. "I have to show you to your quarters, Zohariel." It was M'naz, still being courteous to the slightly shell-shocked boy. He followed M'naz through the rooms like an obedient dog, eyes wide at the surroundings.
"how long have you lived as a wolf?" the dragonrider asked, trying to make conversation. Difficult for a person who hadn't developed normal social skills. "I can't remember, it felt like onl a few months but it had to be longer." Zohariel looked down at himself. He'd grown into a man while in that wolf form, unbeknown to anyone. " Well, how old were you when you started living that way?"
Think, he said, "I was young, very young. If I remember correctly I might have been six."
"Six? You look almost twenty now!"
Twenty... that means he'd lived as a wolf for fourteen turns. "Fourteen turns." he breathed. "It can't have been that long. It felt like a few months!"
"We're here." M'naz broke into Zohariel's thoughts, holding the door to a dimly lit room open. "Just come find me if you need anything, okay?"
"Yes, sir." Entering the room, Zohariel found the bed and sat down hard onto it. "Fourteen turns." he repeated to the empty room. "Fourteen turns since my mother was killed.....fourteen turns since I ran away from my father." It was almost too much. "Echi?"