Ideas
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There was something curious in her gaze, some spark of wonder as she watched him work, form curled, tail lashing slightly. "Why are you so interested in this. . ." There was a brief silence, as she attempted to sound out the unfamiliar word. "Maa-they." A short pause. "maa-ticks?"
Looking up, he smiled, one hand moving from the table to stroke along her spine, long fingers slipping along the supple curve. His nails were slightly longer than normal, but, perfect for scratching. Arching upwards, she let out a low purr. Another pause followed.
"Well?"
He chuckled at her impatience, but then, she never had been a patient creature.
"It describes the world. Or it can, depending on how it is used. I find that intriguing."
A long, languid stretch followed his words, her claws digging at the table, turning her head up to him, ears twitching slightly. She watched the symbols flowing from the pen ensconced in his hand. Idly, she stopped herself from batting at the quill. It would have been impolite.
"Are they magic symbols?" She was watching him write, but, unlike the usual script, these seemed more arcane, though much less ornate than the near illuminations used by most for such work.
"Perhaps one day," he says, setting the pen down. "For now, though, they're just reflections on anothers work."
There was something curious in her gaze, some spark of wonder as she watched him work, form curled, tail lashing slightly. "Why are you so interested in this. . ." There was a brief silence, as she attempted to sound out the unfamiliar word. "Maa-they." A short pause. "maa-ticks?"
Looking up, he smiled, one hand moving from the table to stroke along her spine, long fingers slipping along the supple curve. His nails were slightly longer than normal, but, perfect for scratching. Arching upwards, she let out a low purr. Another pause followed.
"Well?"
He chuckled at her impatience, but then, she never had been a patient creature.
"It describes the world. Or it can, depending on how it is used. I find that intriguing."
A long, languid stretch followed his words, her claws digging at the table, turning her head up to him, ears twitching slightly. She watched the symbols flowing from the pen ensconced in his hand. Idly, she stopped herself from batting at the quill. It would have been impolite.
"Are they magic symbols?" She was watching him write, but, unlike the usual script, these seemed more arcane, though much less ornate than the near illuminations used by most for such work.
"Perhaps one day," he says, setting the pen down. "For now, though, they're just reflections on anothers work."