Wiley Wispy Banter

“Wēs Hāl!" The now-customary greeting reaches her at the top of the library steps, followed by the sight of Silovar with flushed red cheeks and snow speckled through his hair. His blue eyes glint with curiosity and eagerness, as they did each time they fell upon Osthryn while she has been in Mountainkeep. Osthryn ascribes this to his relative youth – any young mage has to be a curious and enthusiastic creature to embark on that discipline in the first place.

However, a small part of her finds this image endearing. His smile despite the evidently biting cold tells of a deep joy that has not yet been dampened by the realities plaguing her past, and she somehow envies his innocence.

"Wēs Hāl," Osthryn replies. She has begun to understand that this phrase is some sort of greeting. For all the questions that Silovar was fond of asking her at the expense of her wisps disappearing upon the ladders, which he was often wont to do, she could never get a straight answer out of him regarding the true nature of this strange language. Osthryn has begun spending countless hours penning her own queries and searching in the library for references to the words she heard and repeated from Silovar, but to no avail.

At first Silovar’s insistence on using this strange language had struck her as odd, almost as if Silovar was proud that he knew some language others did not. Later, it started to irk her that even her innate talent for languages could not decipher enough of it to learn it even slightly, despite Silovar’s frequent use of it. Silovar treats her as if she is supposed to know what language it is and how to speak it, and teases her to no end if she doesn’t. To her utter frustration, when she asked him for further clarification, more vocabulary, or even a word’s definition, she was met with an insolent grin and a shrug. She has always been good at languages, however, and she is sure she would eventually solve this one.

"Lange iċ ne ġeseah þē" Silovar continues, his smile teasing her with yet more words that her usually quick understanding of language refuses to comprehend.

“Yes, quite strange, that Martina believes this snow to be a blessing," Osthryn presses past whatever original meaning could have been in Silovar's statement, determined to ignore the nagging itch in her head this mystery language causes.

Silovar masks his usual confusion and offense at Osthryn’s customary out-of-place responses that clearly indicates her little understanding of what he says, and answers without missing a beat. “I presume these Wings of yours allow no room for blessings of any kind," he smirks.

“Blessings are a strange thing in Bettramon. They are most akin to luck," Osthryn replies, making her way into the library, her voice dropping to a whisper the instant she crosses the threshold.

As usual, it is a buzz of activity. Scribes, mages, and visitors alike swarm the reading nooks and writing-stands. Several casual readers sit in tea-nooks furnished with beautifully upholstered chairs and well-curated artwork. While Osthryn lowers her voice in the library out of respect and force of habit, enough visitors allow their voices to travel just enough above a whisper to render her own conscientiousness somewhat pointless. However, she doesn’t see this as a legitimate reason to give it up herself.

Osthryn goes through the motions. She had determined in the first week already that the fairest course of action is to work through the small piles of query cards clockwise, beginning at a randomly selected scribe or mage each morning to avoid accusations of favouritism. While it is common knowledge that she is Oswald’s apprentice, she knows that keeping a low profile and ensuring as little opportunity for complaint as possible is in her best interest. The rate at which query cards are answered are trivial topics for complaint at best in Osthryn’s mind, but thoroughness remains the best course of action regardless of how insignificant complaints are in the absence of it.

Osthryn snatches up the first set of query cards and ascends a ladder. While she had gotten better at climbing, her stomach still tied itself into knots whenever she approached one. She has found ways to manage it, little routines that reassures her. Whenever she approaches a ladder, she would lightly put her hand upon the first rung, as if asking it permission to ascend. If the ladder holds steady, she would ensure that she places both hands on each rung she ascends twice before progressing to the next, as if confirming the ladder’s acceptance of her.

Osthryn reaches the middle-most rung. After snaking her arms through the rungs to support her as she holds out the query cards to the wisps, she calls one. It takes a long time to arrive, though. When it does, she holds the first query card up to it, and allows it to decipher the words written down before it. “So, Bettramoni luck, what does that look like?"

The wisp disappears, and Osthryn’s eyes flutter closed and her jaw tightens marginally with a deep sigh of resignation.

“Not like this, certainly."

Silovar laughs. “You saw what I did last time. Just make another one."
Osthryn turns her head to face him. “That is not how magic works, young mage," she whispers tersely. "I think you of all people would know that."

“Young mage?" Silovar winks, looking Osthryn up and down. “I thought you would be younger than I."

“And yet you are so childish," Osthryn pans, looking back to her query card and mustering the energy to call to a wisp once more.  

“Childishness is cutting off a conversation and rebutting its resumption," Silovar counters, evidently enjoying Osthryn’s mounting irritation. “Well look at you using such wonderfully erudite words. How smart you are! Now go find yourself a book to read instead of chasing my wisps away, and if you have a question for me, submit it in a query card."

“Try it," Silovar challenges, his smile never once leaving his lips, his eyes sparkling with insufferable self-confidence.

“Try what?"

“To summon a wisp," Silovar smirks, a wisp appearing in his upturned palm, only to be snuffed from existence in his closing fist a moment later. Osthryn let the hand gripping the stack of query cards hang with her head, she met Silovar's eyes with a sigh.

“Tell me what spell you used and I might have a start at it." 

“There is no spell," Silovar beams.

“Nonsense," Osthryn scoffs. “All magic requires a spell."

“Well, I don’t need spells. And neither do you. You have just seen all you need to know."

Osthryn raises her eyebrows with an incredulous half-smile. “Try it," Silovar urges, “Go on."Osthryn gives a minute eye-roll and lifts her right arm in front of her, turning her palm up to face the ceiling, and waits.

“Nothing, see? No spell, no magic."

“You did not even try!"

“There was nothing to try!"

“Shhhttt!" the sharp hiss from Oswald cut up from below, eyes blazing at the pair’s disturbance of the library’s peace.
Osthryn looks at Silovar, and asks in a lowered voice, “What spell did you use?"“You are supposed to know," Silovar croons, the infuriating smirk still sketched on his face.

Osthryn glares at him.

“I have already showed you exactly how it is done. You are a smart girl, you will figure it out. Unless, of course,” he leans toward her on the ladder precariously, a mischievous smile lighting up his eyes, “you enjoy relying on me to bring you a new wisp every time I chase them all away!"

The emerald of Osthryn’s eyes simmers. “Or, you could leave me be while I work, and leave any questions, comments, or suggestions in a query card," she tries to remain perfectly poised and professional, but finds it extremely difficult to leave the irritation out of her voice. She’s not even sure she if wants to hide her annoyance, not entirely.

“Oh, is the little crow upset she cannot get the shiny immediately?"

“Query card," Osthryn insists with a terse whisper, a smile twitching on her face despite her annoyance.

“Fascinating, truly fascinating," Silovar mumbles to himself while climbing back down his ladder, making a beeline to the writing desk and immediately penning a message on the first empty query card he could find.
Osthryn allows herself a small giggle, shaking her head at the scene. Silovar catches her eye and triumphantly holds the card above his head, placing it into her query-box with a grin.