"...Hi. I'm supposed to take you into Paraasilan and buy you sheets and clothes and whatever else you need."

"Yes, please, though if the idea bothers you I could ask Keo to contact Saasnil instead?"

"I'm... fine. Saasnil's not really old enough to wander around town unsupervised - by someone who knows the world, I mean - anyway."

"True, but- I'm trying very hard not to assume? I don't know how any of your various species and pointy ears affect your lifespans. She could just look young and be a hundred years old," points out Adarin. "I, for example, am 46. Most people think I'm 18 or 19."

"Oh, no, Saasnil's a human, she's twelve," Korulen says. "I'm forty-two, but that's fourteen in human equivalency."

"Aha. Then humans are a convenient measuring point," replies Adarin. He's starting to get something of a hang of this world! Sort of. "But you see, that's the sort of thing that I wouldn't have known. I wouldn't have guessed you were nearly my age."

"...For that matter, how long are years in your world?" asks Korulen.

"That would depend on which of 'my' two worlds you're speaking of. The original that we still measure by is about four-hundred days long. Four-hundred and thirteen, if you want to be truly specific. The other, we're still not entirely sure. We have yet to measure even how long a day is."

"Ours are four hundred twelve days. Do you have a sense of how long a day here is?" Korulen asks, heading for the lift.

"I haven't the slightest idea. I made a clock, but I haven't spent long enough studying it in order to know how long each measurement is," he replies, following. He's only a little wary about the lift, and moves to put a hand on the wall for bracing. He is determined to not almost fall over again.

"Front hall," Korulen tells the lift. It moves backwards. "Our years are broken up into eight months," she adds.

"We have sixteen. Weeks are measured in fives. The thirteen extra days technically don't fall under a month and are a time all of their own. It's customary to throw huge, lavish parties during this time," he explains, smiling a little. He's surprised when the lift moves backwards, but he handles it reasonably well enough. These people seriously need stairs.

"We have seven-day weeks. And eight days that aren't in months but are in weeks, between each pair of months. They're sort of low-level holidays, but not huge lavish party type holidays." The lift descends.

Adarin snickers, just a little. "Apparently someone on my world decided not to break up the parties. They wanted all of them, all at once."

"It sounds like fun," offers Korulen with a tentative smile. The lift door opens to a large hall, and Korulen steps out to cross it.

"It can be, but it can also get tiring. It's supposed to be a time of forgiveness towards enemies, new renewals, new chances - and so on. But the parties do grate after a while. Usually everyone's glad when it's over and they can just relax for a little while," explains Adarin, following after her. He has no idea where the shops are, so he's happy to follow her.

"You can't fly, can you?" she asks.

"No, I can't. Perhaps for extremely short distances, but I would over-exert myself soon enough, after the scrying spell and the clock. Neither were particularly small," explains Adarin.

"And I probably can't carry you either. Okay, I guess we're walking." She lets them out of the building. The surrounding area is flat, grassy, and marked with a flagstone path from them to a metropolis with a well-defined border perhaps a mile ahead.

"It... Seems like it would be insulting for you to carry me? Even in your other form. To you, I mean. You're not a beast of burden or something," says Adarin, heading along the path.

"Well, I can't anyway, I'm too little. Mom could. And you can't fly, so it would be faster that way; I don't see how wasting time walking is less insulting."

"True. I suppose my perspective's strange. I'm used to everyone being extremely concerned about never lowering themselves to less than what they deserve, even if it would be more practical for everyone."

"I mean, I'll say no if a toddler goes up to me in the street and asks for a ride, sometime when I'm more obviously a thudia than I am right now. But that's mostly because I don't have a saddle and it'd be a distraction from whatever I was doing."

"That makes sense. It's a nice change, is what I meant," he says, somewhat amused. "This is a surprisingly nice place. If it were more viable and not... Potentially problematic, I'd try and get people from my home to move here."