It was, he understood, a challenge for octopus-based Mer to control their coloring so that they didn't broadcast their emotions across their skin. Some never learned to do it, while others were masters of the art, and could consciously control every chromatophore in dizzying patterns of skin-art that other Mer could only envy. Which category young Nysadeia fell into was still unknown to him, however, and though he noted the greying of her tentacles and the disappointment in her voice. He paused, tilting his broad manta wings to bring him to a halt as he turned to face her, considering her reaction to the news.
Are there other positions you would accept? If the historians were truly the only arm of the palace staff that interested her, there was little that could be done. Though her bubble-headed demeanor did not encourage him that she would be a good fit for their ranks. It was a serious task, maintaining the oral histories of their people. True, much was inscribed in shell and stone, but the ocean wore away all things in time. With the oral histories to compare the written records to the writings could be renewed, and stored where they could be safely preserved; only accessed on truly important occasions when the oral histories needed to be confirmed.
That was not to say that the historians were all a solemn lot; they were each skilled bards in their own right, many with the charisma and outgoing natures natural to the profession. But they were, one and all, carriers of a sacred trust for their people.
The ease with which Nysadeia gave up on joining their ranks did not reassure Hadama that she would be a good match for their number.
However, that was not the only job in the palace that might be found for a young woman of delicate sensibilities. A gleam came into Hadama's emerald eyes that, if one who knew him well had seen it, would have boded interesting times ahead for the one it was turned on.
Are there other positions you would accept? If the historians were truly the only arm of the palace staff that interested her, there was little that could be done. Though her bubble-headed demeanor did not encourage him that she would be a good fit for their ranks. It was a serious task, maintaining the oral histories of their people. True, much was inscribed in shell and stone, but the ocean wore away all things in time. With the oral histories to compare the written records to the writings could be renewed, and stored where they could be safely preserved; only accessed on truly important occasions when the oral histories needed to be confirmed.
That was not to say that the historians were all a solemn lot; they were each skilled bards in their own right, many with the charisma and outgoing natures natural to the profession. But they were, one and all, carriers of a sacred trust for their people.
The ease with which Nysadeia gave up on joining their ranks did not reassure Hadama that she would be a good match for their number.
However, that was not the only job in the palace that might be found for a young woman of delicate sensibilities. A gleam came into Hadama's emerald eyes that, if one who knew him well had seen it, would have boded interesting times ahead for the one it was turned on.
