Zerichiel brings us plenty of food and clothing, even a low chair so that I don’t have to sit completely submerged in water. He eyes Lyva with scorn, threatening to muzzle her if she doesn’t stop growling. This only makes her growl louder. Everything is lowered down through the grate and I wait until he leaves before seeing to Lyva’s needs.
She is incensed.
She maintains her wolf form for hours, circling the cell, expelling nervous energy, fueled by fear and her protectiveness of me. Thankfully, we have some clothes for her to wear, as I didn’t think to grab the rags she shed when she transformed. I wait for her to settle, watch over her as she dresses in the plain hassock sack Zerichiel found for her — the clothes of a slave. His care and attention is clearly defined to me. She looks r
