The Wheel In The Sky Keeps On Turning

Fiery orange optics would silently glance at the movements of the feather, of his paw as the companion digilently taught Ashiel. Her auditory system would flicker at the masculine baritone , gentle words explaining carefully each and every single detail, as her gaze would move from the quill towards the male once again. I have seen a system, in my homeland, she shifted her weight, shivering ever so sightly due to the cold water damping her fur, dripping into droplets, cascading down silk tendrils, ...they used to call it hieroglyphs however, unfortunately, I did not remained long enough to learn it. vampiric, sultry tones fell into melancholy by the end of her sentence. The memories of her homeland, of Egypt, were filled with biterness ever since their exile however the little ones that she has she managed to keep them close to her heart and away from the prying eyes of others.

They would use wood to write upon and flowers crushed with water to paint with. As of what they meant, I could not tell you. she offered a comforting sigh as she continued to watch the movements of the companion, bewitchd by the quill and by the mastery in which it was all coming together. Perhaps there was a lesosng to be learnt here and she would make sure to make a mental note of it, registering the elements she witnessed and locking them within the palace of her mind.