WC 596
A hand fluttered to her chin and she nodded thoughtfully as Shawchert told her about the extent of his current skills. She hummed gently in acknowledgment. “Okay, well you've already had a good start, so that's good! It's better than having to start fresh, right? Not that it would be a problem if we did.” She smiled encouragingly, then her eyes flicked to the large volume she had set on the table.
“Oh, don't worry about that. We won't be jumping into that right away, and once we do you don't have to read it all at once. It's full of short stories... Well, plays, really. And those are easy to read.” She flipped the book open to a random page. “See? Since it's a script and not a book, it's mostly just a few words a line, and it's all space out. I do have an ulterior motive, though,” she confessed. “I'm hoping to get you to like them so we can use one of them as a pack performance.” She grinned pridefully. “But it's written in a very, very old English dialect. It's not really beginner stuff. But this one has one page of original text, one page of translations, so it's good for learning.” She turned her gaze back to Shawchert and wondered if she had already bored him yet. He seemed to be listening attentively, though. She did not know if he was just feigning interest for her sake or what, but it was enough to ease her worries for a moment.
“Okay, something to eat...” She nodded firmly and pulled a chair out from the desk. “Make yourself comfortable!” She crooned as she spun around and disappeared into the back room. There was no door in the archway that led from the main floor to the old stockroom, and she could be seen rummaging around in a couple boxes.
“I don't keep too much on hand, usually, but what with winter here and all I thought it couldn't hurt. And in this back room where it's so cold it pretty much stays good for a while. I got a few things from Bangle, haven't tried them out yet.” Orin disappeared behind the wall, what sounded like a container crashed to the floor, and then the woman appeared again, bustling through the archway with a serving tray in hand. The meal she had was basic but very exotic compared to the usual raw meat Orin was used to consuming.
She used the edge of the tray to scoot a couple books out of the way – one clattered to the ground – and quickly grabbed the knife. “Don't have any plates, sorry. Gotta save up to get some from Bangle.” On the tray was a half loaf of sourdough bread and some kind of white, odoriferous cheese that was mottled with blue mold. She began slicing the food, and gave Shawchert a sidelong glance. “I know, it doesn't look too good, right? But he assured me that this is how it's supposed to look. I guess it keeps it from going bad longer, too.” She placed a slice of cheese onto bread and set it on tray close to Shawchert, before taking a piece for herself, though she hesitated to eat it.
“I guess you're really supposed to drink wine with it, but I don't think we'd be very productive then,” she giggled. “Although they do say all the best writers were drunks. Oh well, I don't have any anyway.”
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