Post by Weaver Bellamont on May 8, 2009 17:50:30 GMT -5
The book was practically worthless. It hadn't been written by anyone important, and told a story no one remembered. The title had long faded from it's cover, and it's binding was in sore need of repair. A slightly musty scent filled Weaver's nose as she flicked through the first few pages. The book was old, written in an language that few could even recall what nation had once spoke it. The Mage smiled a soft, subtle smirk, a touch of nostalgia tugging at the corner of her lips. Words from her childhood. She imagined and remembered the sounds of her native tongue. Weaver knew the story the book told, it was full of children's tales. Bedtime stories. She remembered the prose and poetry falling from her teacher's lips from when she was little. She flipped past the intrpduction, stopping mid-way through the first fable. Weaver eyes traced through a couple of lines, before chuckling quietly to herself and snapping the book shut.
This is more than a little bit silly, she told herself, reminiscing about being a powerless child. But even as she mentally chastised herself, she slipped the book into a well-worn leather bag that hung from her shoulder. The shop keeper was an older man, as Weaver walked by she dropped a few coins onto the counter in front of him without a word. Equally soundlessly, he swept up the small pieces of silver, as the tall Mage walked out the door, the bell attached to it ringing sweetly.
The morning outside was still fairly new, shades of dawn had finally faded from the sky, and nearly all the shops, tents and tables had been set up along the path. Weaver knew soon enough the streets would be crowded and noisy, but for now, it was tolerable, just soft chatter flitted on the breeze. She knew she still had a bit more shopping to before the market place got busy, but instead she found a small bench near the shop she had left, and took a seat on it. Weaver pulled the book from her bag, and opened it on her lap. She didn't read it, just flicked through the pages, staring at the words.
This is more than a little bit silly, she told herself, reminiscing about being a powerless child. But even as she mentally chastised herself, she slipped the book into a well-worn leather bag that hung from her shoulder. The shop keeper was an older man, as Weaver walked by she dropped a few coins onto the counter in front of him without a word. Equally soundlessly, he swept up the small pieces of silver, as the tall Mage walked out the door, the bell attached to it ringing sweetly.
The morning outside was still fairly new, shades of dawn had finally faded from the sky, and nearly all the shops, tents and tables had been set up along the path. Weaver knew soon enough the streets would be crowded and noisy, but for now, it was tolerable, just soft chatter flitted on the breeze. She knew she still had a bit more shopping to before the market place got busy, but instead she found a small bench near the shop she had left, and took a seat on it. Weaver pulled the book from her bag, and opened it on her lap. She didn't read it, just flicked through the pages, staring at the words.