Down and out, and out of luck, we're spinning but the needle's stuck
A curious question; she had never considered it. Maea glanced up, then looked at the unfinished book. Then swept her eyes along the shelves, and tried to imagine herself confined within these walls, wiling away hour upon hour bent over aged parchment, fresh paper, her fingers sticky from ink and glue.
It had the look of a cage.
She shook her head in a sharp jerk, side to side before staring down at her feet, mouth pressed into a thin line. It shouldn't make her feel so trapped - but it did.
Only, her head came up quick enough again as Nikolai went on. Something hungry came over her features, and she leaned forward, a hand coming to rest on the counter.
"You know the old language?" she asked, suddenly intent. "If you can translate it - can you teach me to read it?" A moment of hesitation, then she added; "I could... show you what Sam taught me. In return."
Something for something had always been the currency of the Grounds.
It had the look of a cage.
She shook her head in a sharp jerk, side to side before staring down at her feet, mouth pressed into a thin line. It shouldn't make her feel so trapped - but it did.
Only, her head came up quick enough again as Nikolai went on. Something hungry came over her features, and she leaned forward, a hand coming to rest on the counter.
"You know the old language?" she asked, suddenly intent. "If you can translate it - can you teach me to read it?" A moment of hesitation, then she added; "I could... show you what Sam taught me. In return."
Something for something had always been the currency of the Grounds.
Maea
