Rion lay asleep on a fur bed, and a sharp, acrid smell hit him.
He groggily turned his head and scrunched his nose a few times before his eyelids trembled and his eyes snapped open.
His vision cleared, and his gaze fell on the redwood, dark hide ceiling. He blinked off the sleep and mumbled in a low voice, "An unfamiliar ceiling..."
Right then, a soft, familiar voice reached him.
"Unfamiliar? Are you unwell even after a week?"
He shot up, and his eyes fell on Zaelyane. She was sitting on the chair, and her smoke pipe was grasped in the cage of her slender fingers as she took puffs out of it.
He looked at Zaelyane with a surprised expression and muttered, "Zaelyane?"
She turned her head towards him, and he asked with a deep frown etched on his face, "I've been here for a week?"
She nodded, took a puff and answered while the smoke left her cherry lips, "Your father threw you on my bed and told me to take care of you."
