Kahlan's hair, during Princess
Snarled
Kahlan Amnell's hair prided itself on being the most lustrous, the most epic, of any other hair in the Midlands—or, indeed, the world.
Today though—dungeons were absolutely ruinous, Kahlan's hair thought. The damp made it frizz, the dirt that lodged near Kahlan's scalp meant it would need another washing before the week was out—it was too bad, because the soap irritated Kahlan's hair, and drying was a long and arduous process, so that to suffer through it more than once a week was the outside of enough—
What was more, Kahlan's hair was used to a good and thorough brushing every night before bed, but if there was anything so genteel as a brush in this dirty dungeon, Kahlan's hair would own itself astonished.
Kahlan's fingers, distracted and stiff from rattling the bars, made a poor substitute, and Kahlan's hair thought longingly of Richard's gentle hands running through it, or Cara's—even more gentle, as though afraid of breaking something, or of trailing old blood through Kahlan's hair…
Kahlan's hair wasn't jealous of Cara's—for one thing, Cara's hair was too short, and cut in a shocking way. Kahlan's hair was proud to say it had never allowed scissors dangerously close. Furthermore, Cara's hair was gold, and thus made an excellent foil for Kahlan's.
That Kahlan's hair should be in the same cell with the Margrave of Rothenberg's pitiful, matted, dull brown wife's hair was truly passing all bounds. If only Richard and Cara were here.
Kahlan's hair was definitely in a Mood.