Tarrin hadn't really thought all that much about other Were-creatures, or any other creatures for that matter. He was born human, and though he no longer was, he was more human than anything else. His upbringing made him thus, and while the Cat could alter that, it could not replace it. In the short days since meeting Jesmind, a peace had fallen over him. He had almost no trouble with the Cat, although he could feel it there. It was almost like the Human and the Cat in him had struck a bargain to work together. Tarrin felt that the Human had to give up a few things, which accounted for the Jesmind-like attitudes and mannerisms that had come over him lately. But that was a small price to pay for the peace under his ears. Tarrin did not embrace what he was, but he had accepted it. And he knew that that was an important step.
It was all so strange. When he'd left Aldreth, never in his wildest dreams did he think that he would have ended up the way he did. It was almost like the Favor of the Lady had turned black on him. But in another way, he had to admit that being what he was had saved his life. That Wyvern may have killed him had he not been Were, and capable of the inhuman speed and coordination he'd used to sheathe its poisoned tail. And make the jump to shore, then make the jump that got him out of reach of the Trolls. It was better to live changed than not to live at all.
Rather shamedly, he realized that he hadn't written a letter to his parents. Though they knew of his change, he still thought it was only decent to write to them himself. Best to let them know he was well and whole.
It wasn't easy to write with his huge paws, but he managed to pinch the quill pen between two fingers, and proceeded to write. He wrote simply, honestly, the way he talked to them. He told them about his change, and disclosed much of the journey down in simple, straightforward words. Then he described what it was like as best he could, since it was so very hard to try to explain sensations that a human had never experience.
While he was writing his farewells, the door opened after a single sharp knock. Elsa stood in the doorway, wearing her tunic and breeches, her blond hair damp from the bathing pool. "Tarrin, a word with you," she said in the Ungaardt tongue.
"Yes Mistress?" he asked in kind.
"You'll be presented to the Keeper in the Hall tomorrow before breakfast," she said. "It's a simple ceremony that inducts you into the Novitiate. After that, you'll go to your first class. Someone there will guide you."
"Alright, Mistress Elsa," he said.
"Oh, there's a Selani in the Tower," she said. "You'll be in class with her. She doesn't seem to like humans, so we'd like you to show her around after class."
"I can do that, Mistress," he replied.
"Alright. Have a good night."
"You to, Mistress," he replied, and she closed the door.
"What language was that?" Dar asked.
"Ungaardt," he replied.
"It's like a broken lute," he said sourly.
"I didn't invent it," Tarrin shrugged.
"I should teach you a civilized language," Dar told him. "Arakite."
"I know Arakite," Tarrin told him calmly.
"You do?" he said, looking at him strangely.
"My father speaks it. He learned it when he was in the army. He taught it to me."
"How many languages do you speak?" Dar asked curiously.
"Four," he replied. "The Common tongue, Ungaardt, Arakite, and Dal. I learned Dal from the village smith, Karn Rocksplitter, and enough Dals come down from the mountains to make speaking the language a good idea. They trade with us sometimes."
"Where did you find time to learn all these things?" Dar said in consternation.
"We don't have much else to do once the chores are done," Tarrin shrugged. "We don't have a big farm, so it doesn't take very long. I learned the Common tongue and Ungaardt when I was a baby, because that's what my mother speaks. My father taught me Arakite when I was a boy, and I learned Dal from Karn during the time I was helping him at his forge, after his apprentice broke his leg in an accident. Karn would teach me as he hammered the metal. It gave him something to occupy his mind, because he was such a good smith he didn't have to think about his work."
"This could be handy," Dar said in Arakite.
"Like we'll have to keep secrets," Tarrin said in Arakite with a smile.
"I know Shacean," Dar told him. "Maybe I'll teach you that instead."
"I don't see much use for it," Tarrin said. "I never thought I'd use this language, ever. Except to talk about mother in front of her with father without her understanding."
Dar laughed. "If she's Ungaardt, she probably didn't appreciate it."
"Mother does it to father too," Tarrin said. "I think it's a game with them. Mother doesn't know Arakite, and father doesn't know Ungaardt. I'm the one in the middle."
"Must be a dangerous place," Dar said with a grin.
"No, not really. It's just a game with them, so they never ask what the other is talking about."
"Ah well."
Tarrin looked around the room. "Dar, there's something about me you should know," he said in Arakite. "I think it's best to get this out of the way now, so you don't have a heart attack when you see it."
"What?" he asked curiously. He raised an eyebrow as Tarrin started to take off his clothes.
"I don't want this to go out of this room," he said.
"It won't, I promise," he replied as Tarrin shed the last of his clothes.
"This." Tarrin fixed the image of the cat in his mind and willed himself to change. The room went gray, as it did when he was in transition, and his body swiftly melted into the new form. When vision returned to him, he looked up at the now-gigantic Dar and meowed complacently.
"Yaman!" he gasped, speaking the name of the patron God of Arkis. Then he made a curious scratching gesture with his right hand over his eyes, and made one small bow. It must have been religious in nature, Tarrin guessed. Maybe speaking his God's name was taboo or something. "Tarrin, is that you?"
Tarrin nodded, sitting down calmly.
"I heard stories about this, but I never thought to think about it. You can't talk, can you?"
Tarrin shook his head.
"But it's obvious you can understand me."
Tarrin nodded.
"May I?" he asked. When Tarrin nodded, Dar reached down and picked him up. "By the storm, you're heavy," he grunted as he shifted Tarrin into a comfortable position, then he started to scratch his ears idly. "You're cute like this," he said with a grin. He then put him down, and Tarrin resumed his own shape.
"So if you see me like that in the room, don't have a conniption," Tarrin told him, bending down and retrieving his trousers. "Sometimes I like to sleep that way. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't give me away if you see me like that out in the Tower. There may come a time when I'll want to sneak around." He sat down and started pulling them back on. "Oh, if you see a white cat that looks alot like me, come find me and let me know immediately."
"That would be this Jesmind, wouldn't it?"
"Yes," he said.
"I'll keep an eye out," he promised, then he yawned. "I think I'll go to sleep early, after you kept me up last night."
"Sure, blame it all on me," he shot back with a smile. "But I think I could go for some sleep myself."
Tarrin had discovered that the strange balls of light were called Glowglobes, and they were all over the Tower. Not a single candle was used anywhere. The secret to making them were lost over the years, as was so much that the Sorcerers had managed to achieve before the disastrous Breaking which had occurred two thousand years ago. Tarrin had heard that story from his father, who had heard it from a Sorcerer.
The Breaking was a series of natural disasters that had ravaged the world from one end to the other. Fires, earthquakes, tidal waves, followed by disease and famine. It was a savage time for the world, and in the West, the ever-jealous Priests had managed to convince the people that the Breaking was the fault of the mysterious Sorcerers. In a climax of mindless fury, a mob of thousands and thousands had stormed the one and only center of learning for Sorcerers in the whole world, the Tower. Rather than defend the Tower and kill thousands, thereby destroying the reputation of the Sorcerers, the Keeper at that time, Valas Dansen, ordered the Sorcerers who were not in the Tower to hide themselves and keep the art alive. Then the Sorcerers in the Tower raised a mystical ward which blocked the mob for long enough to weave one more enchantment.