[Perhaps he'd gotten a little too complacent since arriving here and being, comparatively, without the dangers and random attacks he faced at home. He'll certainly dwell on it later, but for now Zelgadis is asleep in his bed, defending himself the furthest thing from his awareness.]
[He turns over, the bed creaking under his weight and his wire hair putting another slice in the already patchwork pillowcase. But despite the movement, he's dead to the world.]