|.6th Winter, 514 AV
It was called the Storyteller's Well, or so Zhol had been told: an eight sided depression - square, with the corners cut off; Zhol wasn't entirely sure what the name of that shape was supposed to be, especially not in Nari - that descended by steps into the floor of the Enclave. Though only intended to be used in the evenings, Zhol couldn't recall ever seeing it completely empty: there was always a cluster of Yasi receiving a lesson; a few clusters Chiet chatting away, making the most of their limited time off to catch up with their friends; the occasional musician nervously practising for a performance that had been scheduled.
It was the evening stories that gave the Well its name, though: that was when the Yasi would congregate, and a teacher, or volunteer, or misbehaving student would sit in the centre, and share a story with the rest of Wind Reach's young. It was those times that Zhol encountered the Well most often, hiding as out of view as he possibly could without being out of earshot. Fortunately for him, there was something almost magical in the way the Well was designed: no matter where you stood, you could always hear the storyteller as clearly as if they were stood right at your side.
The stories were, of course, in Nari the vast majority of the time: but that was why Zhol was here. Learning Nari - learning so that he could say things to Khara without language getting in the way - was by his estimation the single most difficult thing he had ever done. Traversing all of Kalea to arrive at Wind Reach had been less arduous, and at this point had taken less time and yielded considerably more success. He tried his best to learn in private, borrowing the simplest of children's story books and learning materials so that the words would not be so complex; troubling Drusilla for translations of the words he didn't understand, so that he wouldn't have to embarrass himself even more in front of Khara; but there were times when written words and those spoken with the interesting twists of a Symenos accent just weren't enough. There were times when his only resort was coming here, standing as far out of sight as he could, and immersing himself fully in a tale intended for children in the hopes that his fragmented knowledge would understand enough of the words for him to glean the meaning.
Today was better than others. Sometimes, standing here was disheartening, compounding how little he knew; but today, it felt as if he understood far more than he ever had. There were times when he wasn't quite sure if a word was a name or just some description his understanding couldn't translate, but he understood the premise: a tale of Sylirans and Svefra, of swordplay and subterfuge, of a man out to avenge the death of his father, and a stable boy in love with a beautiful princess. That last part struck a chord, and lingered in his mind; he wondered if Khara knew the story, and if the stable boy's words would have the same effect on her.
Despite persistent interruptions from an impertinent youth, the storyteller finally finished his tale, and Zhol joined in enthusiastically with the Yasi's appreciative applause. He stared at the cover of the book that the storyteller held, burned the name into his mind, and made a mental note to try to borrow a copy next time he came to the Enclave to borrow more books.
As the well began to empty, he stepped back a little into the Enclave's maze of books, hiding himself from notice, and waiting patiently for his opportunity to escape. Having to explain why an adult outsider was lurking around at children's story time was a level of embarrassment that Zhol did not want to have to contend with.
It was the evening stories that gave the Well its name, though: that was when the Yasi would congregate, and a teacher, or volunteer, or misbehaving student would sit in the centre, and share a story with the rest of Wind Reach's young. It was those times that Zhol encountered the Well most often, hiding as out of view as he possibly could without being out of earshot. Fortunately for him, there was something almost magical in the way the Well was designed: no matter where you stood, you could always hear the storyteller as clearly as if they were stood right at your side.
The stories were, of course, in Nari the vast majority of the time: but that was why Zhol was here. Learning Nari - learning so that he could say things to Khara without language getting in the way - was by his estimation the single most difficult thing he had ever done. Traversing all of Kalea to arrive at Wind Reach had been less arduous, and at this point had taken less time and yielded considerably more success. He tried his best to learn in private, borrowing the simplest of children's story books and learning materials so that the words would not be so complex; troubling Drusilla for translations of the words he didn't understand, so that he wouldn't have to embarrass himself even more in front of Khara; but there were times when written words and those spoken with the interesting twists of a Symenos accent just weren't enough. There were times when his only resort was coming here, standing as far out of sight as he could, and immersing himself fully in a tale intended for children in the hopes that his fragmented knowledge would understand enough of the words for him to glean the meaning.
Today was better than others. Sometimes, standing here was disheartening, compounding how little he knew; but today, it felt as if he understood far more than he ever had. There were times when he wasn't quite sure if a word was a name or just some description his understanding couldn't translate, but he understood the premise: a tale of Sylirans and Svefra, of swordplay and subterfuge, of a man out to avenge the death of his father, and a stable boy in love with a beautiful princess. That last part struck a chord, and lingered in his mind; he wondered if Khara knew the story, and if the stable boy's words would have the same effect on her.
Despite persistent interruptions from an impertinent youth, the storyteller finally finished his tale, and Zhol joined in enthusiastically with the Yasi's appreciative applause. He stared at the cover of the book that the storyteller held, burned the name into his mind, and made a mental note to try to borrow a copy next time he came to the Enclave to borrow more books.
As the well began to empty, he stepped back a little into the Enclave's maze of books, hiding himself from notice, and waiting patiently for his opportunity to escape. Having to explain why an adult outsider was lurking around at children's story time was a level of embarrassment that Zhol did not want to have to contend with.
"Pavi" | "Common" | "Nari" | "Symenos"
Dad Thoughts | Dinah Thoughts | Khara Thoughts
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This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.
Dad Thoughts | Dinah Thoughts | Khara Thoughts
...
This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.