Thalina stood there like a criminal caught at the scene of the crime.
Zorath blinked once.
Then twice.
His gaze flicked to the burned bed, the fried Ceiling, the flood on the floor, the tiny pink fluffball snoring in the middle of the mess, then finally back to Thalina—who looked like she had survived a hurricane.
"…What," his deep voice rumbled, "happened?"
Thalina, lips twitching, slowly raised a finger. "Before you say anything… I can explain."
Zorath stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and crossed his arms. His long blonde hair draped over his shoulders, his sharp features unreadable.
"Go ahead," he said flatly. "Explain."
Thalina opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
"…There was an accident," she finally said, very seriously.
Zorath's brow lifted. "An accident."
"Yes."
"With fire, lightning, a flood, and a destroyed bed?"
Thalina nodded firmly. "Yes."
Zorath exhaled slowly.
