"Dolls," Wrathion admits, "nothing else. Who did this to you?"

His hands are still moving, roving over Anduin -- over his face, his cut hair, and his arm where he'd flinched. That means something, and Wrathion is determined to find out what even as he guides him out of the cage slowly.

The question of making sure they aren't able to do this again is an interesting one. Wrathion, of course, would merrily burn the whole place down if he could -- yet he equally doesn't want to be here a second longer than absolutely necessary. There's an uneasiness in him as he looks around, a tension in his normally nonchalant frame.