He scrubbed at himself for a very long time, washing over twenty days of dirt and sweat and leaves and bark and all other manner of things off his skin and out of his fur. It was a bit hard to get at his tail, but he managed to scrub the formidable dirt out of it and comb out the mats with his claws. He unbound his hair and washed it thoroughly, watching as dirt and bits of bark and leaves, and a couple of dead flies and mosquitos, washed out of his hair and were carried away by the gentle flow towards the edge. He climbed up onto the edge of the pool to thorougly soap down and lather the dirt out of the fur on his legs, then he combed the mats out after dropping back into the water to rinse.

During the bath, he'd come to realize how thin he'd gotten. His ribs stuck out like bare branches, and every muscle he had was visible to the eye as he moved. The heavy meal had done wonders for him, though, and he could literally feel how much weight he'd gained since then. He suspected that it was the semi-magical power of regeneration that Jesmind said they possessed at work there, using the food he'd eaten to quickly put meat back on his bones. He was already hungry again. He was going to have to find out if he could get more to eat. He had the idea that if he ate heavily for a day or so, his regenerative ability would flesh him back out in almost no time.

He felt like an entirely new person when he climbed out of the water and shook much of the water out of his fur. He was clean, warm, safe, secure, and he would soon be full. The trials of the journey to Suld were quickly fading into his memories. He felt the eyes on him, but unlike the sensation he'd felt when he was on the run, he didn't mind these eyes. Some of them were in fear, but the look on one blond woman who was in the bathing pool was one of appreciation, not fear. Jesmind's prediction that he would come to not mind being nude in the presence of others had come to pass, he knew. The Cat had taken that much of a hold on his mind. And he found that he welcomed it.

He took a towel from an edgy Novice girl and dried himself off, then sat down on a chair, nude, and tried futilely to try to braid his hair back up. His huge paws made the task extremely difficult, and he came close to using his claws to shear it off more than once. He knew how futile that would be. It would grow back in a matter of hours, and may end up growing back longer than it was now. He didn't want to risk that. Having it three quarters of the way down his back was more than long enough.

"You look like you could use some help," a voice called.

He looked up. It was the blond woman who'd been in the pool, with a towel wrapped around herself. Her face was young and very pretty, with deep blue eyes that sparkled in the light and the classic high-cheekboned, delicate face that made Draconian women famous for their beauty. Her common mode of speech marked her as a Tykini, from the breakaway kingdom of Tykarthia. "I do have trouble with it," he admitted.

"Here, let me," she said. She went around behind the chair, and he felt her take up his damp hair in her hands. "Why do you grow it so long?" she asked.

"Because it just grows back," he replied.

"Hair this long must have taken you years," she noted, starting to pull his hair into sections for braiding.

"No, hours," he told her.

"Really?"

"It's racial," he said delicately.

"Ah," she sounded. He could feel her hands swiftly begin to intertwine his hair into a single thick braid.

"You're good at this," he noted.

"I have five sisters, and braids are a very common hairstyle in Tykarthia," she said. "Not as popular as they are in Tor, but popular enough. Have you ever seen a Torian woman?"

"No."

"They put their hair into as many tiny little braids as they can," she told him. "Sometimes they weave beads into the ends. I shudder to think of how long that takes."

"They must have alot of time on their hands," he noted.

"Truly," she agreed. "My name is Jula," she introduced.

"I'm Tarrin," he responded.

"You're visiting?"

"Actually, I'm supposed to enter the Novitiate," he told her.

She laughed. "Then I'd best not let too many people see this," she told him. "I'm katzh-dashi. If they see me braiding the hair of Novices, I'll never hear the end of it."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know who you were."

"I didn't know who you were either," she said. "Down here in the baths, it's not easy to tell. It's not like I have the shaeram tattooed on my bosom."

"I think that would be a bit ostentatious," he said sagely.

"Not to mention painful," she agreed. "Do you have a bit of twine or thong?" she asked. "I need to tie this in, or it'll unravel itself."

"I think I have the old one somewhere," he said. "No, wait, I undid it in the pool. I forgot about it."

"Not a problem," she said. "I'll cinch it so it'll hold itself for a while, but you need to-" She stopped as Tarrin, who had his old, frayed robe in hand, ripped a bit of cloth off the hem, then handed it to her. "I hope you're not quite that hard on your clothes," she said with a bit of a laugh, taking it from him and tying it to the end of his braid. "Want me to make a pretty little bow in it?"

"No thank you," he said dryly.

"We don't have too many non-humans in the Tower," she told him as she knotted the torn fabric and then came back around him. "I think there are a couple of Wikuni that act as emissaries of a sort, but that's about all. If I may ask, what race are you?"

"I'm not Wikuni," he told her. "I'm a Were-cat."

"Really?" she asked, her eyes brightening. "We'll definitely have to talk. I have an interest in the non-human races, and most Were-kin are very tight-lipped. Well, it will have to wait, I guess," she sighed. "I need to get dressed and get to the class I'm teaching before they think I'm not showing up." She went over to the next chair and dropped her towel without so much as batting an eyelash. Tarrin noted that she had an exquisitely shaped body. She was very lovely. Her figure almost compared to Jesmind's.

Tarrin pulled the new robe on and belted it at his waist, then gathered up the old one. He realized that they didn't tell him what to do with it. He decided to take it back to his room and drop it off. He'd ask about it later.

"What do I do with the towel?" he asked Jula as she pulled her shift over her head and settled it into place.

"Just leave it," she told him. "A Novice will pick it up in a while."

"Thank you, Mistress Jula, for the braid," he said.

"Any time, Tarrin," she told him, shrugging herself into a robe. Obviously, she would wear that back to her chambers, where she would dress. And the sight and thought of that told him that this robe he was wearing was his. He was supposed to hang it on that peg on the wall.

He couldn't follow his scent-trail all the way back, since they'd come from the Quartermaster's so he went up to the first level and wandered until he saw something that looked famliar. From there, he quickly found the central hall, and followed it down to the door to his room. He noticed that there were no locks on the doors. Opening it, he saw the room much as it was before, except for a neatly folded pair of trousers and a shirt resting on the bed. He also saw, to his own surprise, a single leather pack sitting in front of it, and his staff was sitting in the corner. Dolanna had had his things all this time? He was impressed, and a little relieved when he realized that the Box had been in that pack. Going to it quickly, he noticed a note resting on top of the pack, and another note sitting atop the clothes. The note on the clothes was from the Quartermaster.

Master Tarrin:

I finished this set, and decided to bring it so you had more to wear than a robe. You can pick up your other four sets of clothes in the morning. They will be ready for you.