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Alessio stared at Nithel a bit. As if he couldn’t believe the man didn’t know what writing was. Nithel’s brows furrowed moreso. Perhaps Alessio came from a place where the leafed squares were common, and the symbols on them.

Nithel felt a strange feeling wash into his heart, and he rinsed it quickly. I don’t need to know everything, if Alessio knows I don’t know, that’s fine. He won’t judge me as Gabrel, but even if he does, tis fine, for I would deserve it.  

“I’m sorry,” His friend’s face blushed, and Nithel smiled the smallest bit inside at the innocence.

“It’s…a form of communication for people to leave what they’ve said or thought or learned for other people to find so even if they can’t meet or live thousands of years apart there’s still a way for one of them to learn from the other. Here, I’ll teach you–” Alessio grabbed one corner of the square.

But Nithel was still stuck on the explanation. Communication? Did they not just tell the son, of father’s son not share all these things without ‘writing’? Up to the thousandth year and beyond? Did they not already do this in Lanark, and all the Ten?

Did this place not pass down the truths from generation to generation? But surely, surely they remembered all that was spoken. But Alessio was already moving on, and Nithel didn’t interrupt to ask his questions. How long did it take? Surely not too long.

“Well…it’s too dark here I…”

Just tell me what it says, and I will remember.

“First we need some candles to…” Alessio stopped mid-sentence again, and Nithel looked to his friend.

Are you alright?

After a moment of nothing, Nithel whispered, though the whisper had a tone, “I’m sorry.” And left it at that a time.

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