Aug 27 2015, 12:32 PM
The soft snick, snick, snick of claws on rock echoed about the scorched tunnel, walls and floors burnt black near the entrance to Polaris by Raheerah's flames. Booker tried not to look at the markings, instead focusing on his journey. The numbat had set off from Eridanus a few short days after Makyna had taken her leave, determined to begin his duties as the Scribe of the Mother as soon as possible. Lame leg dragged behind him, the tiny Gembound scurried along the passage, leaving behind the green-framed Eridanus exit and trying to find the carvings themselves. He'd seen them only briefly, in his mad dash to escape Polaris when the flames hit, but he'd always had a fairly good internal compass. Indeed, it only took him a few minutes of searching to come across the strange markings he'd set out for. Booker grinned, trotting closer to the elaborately carved wall, sitting back on his haunches and peering up at the images, the words - for they had to be words. Idly, the numbat gathered up a sizable pile of tiny stones and rubble, working them in his tiny palms to free them from their coating of dust, prepared to use them as a writing surface if need be. He wouldn't be able to learn everything now, he knew, but he could certainly start. With gentle paws, Booker traced the carvings, almost religious in his awe of them. They were important, this he knew deep down to his weary bones, and the All Mother had given him a duty, one beyond protecting his Bonded: to become a Holy Scribe, someone who could record their doctrine and pass it down the generations. With a soft, deep breath, Booker began to memorize the language, hoping beyond all hope that at least some of it would stick in his cloudy mind. |