For once, as the day starts and they're all ready to go, Gale doesn't have even so much as a hint of that usual smile and cheerfulness of his on his face. He grumbles in answer when he's talked to, not entirely paying attention, frown set on his lips, tail swishing from side to side and refusing to stay still.
Everything is so godsdamned itchy.
He's long since figured out that this special kind of hell is unfortunately a natural occurrence, old scales being shed in favor of new ones, and his initial freak out as a child might've been just a little blown out of proportions, but well— it's hard to really do more than just get used to it and grin and bear it when most of his life has been spent far away from others of his kind. At this point, Gale is just sort of assuming that's about all he can do by now, wait it out and hope within the week it's all over.
... Unfortunately, that's easier said than done when clad in heavy armor, weight just enough to rub uncomfortably against scales and forbidding him completely from even trying to scratch any sore spot for some kind of relief. It's going to be a long, painful week by the looks of it—
He's been grumpy and it's been a few days, now. Ovan frowns some, the most visible concern he's shown in awhile. Aloof as he is, Gale's too easy to read, not a single deceptive bone in his body. Even his consistency in being the first to help out wayward souls at the outposts they've all traveled to has dwindled recently. Something's a little different compared to a hidden wound or a festering thought that just wouldn't go away. Even Gale's exhaustion doesn't manifest like this.
The Xaela, however, is certainly shrugging his shoulders and trying to wiggle against something under all of his tank armor.
It takes another two nights before Ovan finally realizes what's going on.
"Gale," he finally calls for him in a moment of rest, an evening left to their own devices. Perhaps there was a benefit to the poor dark knight being as crabby as he currently is when it came to overworking. "Put your head down for a moment." There's a specific piece of information Ovan looks for as he approaches and kneels over him. He carefully parts wefts of hair to reveal the entirety of the black spikes that protrude from Gale's head, not unlike his horns, but far more narrow.
Then, he digs his nail right into his horn, and a layer of a greyish, paper-like shed detaches itself halfway down. "Ah, just as I thought. You're shedding," he comments idly, and then continues to peel the rest of the dried up scales off and out of his hair. "You didn't ask us for help for this, but you've been shedding all week. A hot soak would make this a lot easier on your back scales..." Oh no, there he goes with the dad speak.
