The most difficult thing to do was not to reign in Prince and the others -- not really.
Having been acclimated to Skaffwory, Prince and the other two salamanders were as docile as lapdogs (though Skaff made sure to never, ever voice this thought aloud, or indeed, even to think of it too loudly, in case he accidentally bruised the salamanders' pride and ended up in ashes).
The problem was going through the activities of his everyday life with the salamanders in tow. In this respect, they were less lapdogs and more like cats. They didn't like to be left behind with his attention, but disliked moving; when he tried to fly off, they clutched at branches, making cinders of loftree boughs until Skaff gave them treats of sweet-scented feathersticks and cones of incense. Even then, if Skaff kept aflight or too far from their familiar areas for too long, the salamanders would begin to heat up again, drawing the attention of everyone nearby, making small children cough and rub teary, reddening eyes.
The worst was taking showers. Skaff was a passerine, and had visited the public passerine baths everyday; but the salamanders, once they began following Skaff around exclusively, would have none of it. They despised all forms of water, to the extent that Skaff had to resort to melons and hydrated gourds for the water that he himself needed, a trick that he had seen Skaffwory employ herself. The taste was awful, but it diluted the actual water enough that the salamanders grudgingly allowed him to consume it.
Some passerine took baths in dust and mud, and though Skaff had always thought of this practice as somewhat anti-intuitive, he tried it as well, visiting the dirt baths located in the lower regions of Quartzal. The dust was fine and white and scratchy, spelled to be abrasive to bacterium and curses of all sorts, but the salamanders would have none of this either, and in defiance turned the sand in Skaff's vicinity to a dark black glass which chipped into pieces sharp as daggers.
So, that was it. In resignation, Skaff purchased bath oils, and winced every day as he rubbed the slimy, slippery stuff into his feathers and skin. There were no bath oils that didn't smell, suffocatingly, of some type of flower, and he felt like he was basting himself every time he used it; but the oil captured the dirt on him pretty well, and thereafter the salamanders quite enjoyed burning it up, sending it up in floral-smelling steam and splatters. Skaffwory had herself always smelled like flowers, and now Skaff understood why.
The problem was going through the activities of his everyday life with the salamanders in tow. In this respect, they were less lapdogs and more like cats. They didn't like to be left behind with his attention, but disliked moving; when he tried to fly off, they clutched at branches, making cinders of loftree boughs until Skaff gave them treats of sweet-scented feathersticks and cones of incense. Even then, if Skaff kept aflight or too far from their familiar areas for too long, the salamanders would begin to heat up again, drawing the attention of everyone nearby, making small children cough and rub teary, reddening eyes.
The worst was taking showers. Skaff was a passerine, and had visited the public passerine baths everyday; but the salamanders, once they began following Skaff around exclusively, would have none of it. They despised all forms of water, to the extent that Skaff had to resort to melons and hydrated gourds for the water that he himself needed, a trick that he had seen Skaffwory employ herself. The taste was awful, but it diluted the actual water enough that the salamanders grudgingly allowed him to consume it.
Some passerine took baths in dust and mud, and though Skaff had always thought of this practice as somewhat anti-intuitive, he tried it as well, visiting the dirt baths located in the lower regions of Quartzal. The dust was fine and white and scratchy, spelled to be abrasive to bacterium and curses of all sorts, but the salamanders would have none of this either, and in defiance turned the sand in Skaff's vicinity to a dark black glass which chipped into pieces sharp as daggers.
So, that was it. In resignation, Skaff purchased bath oils, and winced every day as he rubbed the slimy, slippery stuff into his feathers and skin. There were no bath oils that didn't smell, suffocatingly, of some type of flower, and he felt like he was basting himself every time he used it; but the oil captured the dirt on him pretty well, and thereafter the salamanders quite enjoyed burning it up, sending it up in floral-smelling steam and splatters. Skaffwory had herself always smelled like flowers, and now Skaff understood why.
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