Winter 87, 513 AV
As temperatures rose and the sea winds warmed up, the ways and paths Gwin explored the city on changed too. Had she stayed near the sea and lingered around the docks before, she dared to delve deeper into streets now and approach its heart, the University of Zeltiva.
The Scholar’s Forum fascinated her in particular, the proud white columns and their message calling to the artist in her. The day she discovered them, she couldn’t help but flutter closer, carried by green and turquoise butterfly wings, and sink down on the steps leading down to the square designed for debating, comparing wit and intelligence. As she sat, mild sunlight dancing on blond waves, pale skin and grassy fur, she slowly realized what the people standing and sitting around the square were doing.
Leaning back, she observed them for a while. Young men and women, usually in simple clothing, were talking to one another, some stood together in groups, some in pairs, some gave a speech to a handful of listeners arranged around their person. All of them had open faces with clear eyes and most accompanied their words with gestures and expressive body language. Those young scholars featured a subtle light in their eyes, the lines of their faces and their hands. They were oblivious to it themselves, but to a visitor such as Gwin it became fairly obvious after a moment. She sighed. Would she acquire that kind of light herself if she registered for classes?
It was the light of knowledge and intelligence, not following instinct, but studious intelligence. Logic and reason. Probably not, she decided, answering her previous question. Yet it was strangely comforting to watch those young people discuss that which was dear to them and the concepts their lives revolved around.
Then a boy near her stood up from the steps, cleared his throat and started to speak to four comrades scattered in a loose circle around him. “No, my friends, I do believe magic is not only a science, but also a form of art.” Gwin turned a little, wrapping her tail around her body, and listened with interest. If anything, the word ‘art’ had captured her attention. “May I remind you, for example, of the beautiful and vibrant colors visible to an Aurist or the magnificent ice statues and water plays a Reimancer is capable of? Yes, we learn the theory, Djed and everything, but that isn’t what it’s all about. If we limit it to that aspect, we are like the blind man trying to appreciate the colors of a painting. I think it is our duty to the ancient legacy of magic to see beyond.” There he paused for a moment, giving the others a chance to digest and comment. With a simple gesture, he pushed strands of chestnut hair out of pale eyes and smoothed the front of his blue tunic.
The Scholar’s Forum fascinated her in particular, the proud white columns and their message calling to the artist in her. The day she discovered them, she couldn’t help but flutter closer, carried by green and turquoise butterfly wings, and sink down on the steps leading down to the square designed for debating, comparing wit and intelligence. As she sat, mild sunlight dancing on blond waves, pale skin and grassy fur, she slowly realized what the people standing and sitting around the square were doing.
Leaning back, she observed them for a while. Young men and women, usually in simple clothing, were talking to one another, some stood together in groups, some in pairs, some gave a speech to a handful of listeners arranged around their person. All of them had open faces with clear eyes and most accompanied their words with gestures and expressive body language. Those young scholars featured a subtle light in their eyes, the lines of their faces and their hands. They were oblivious to it themselves, but to a visitor such as Gwin it became fairly obvious after a moment. She sighed. Would she acquire that kind of light herself if she registered for classes?
It was the light of knowledge and intelligence, not following instinct, but studious intelligence. Logic and reason. Probably not, she decided, answering her previous question. Yet it was strangely comforting to watch those young people discuss that which was dear to them and the concepts their lives revolved around.
Then a boy near her stood up from the steps, cleared his throat and started to speak to four comrades scattered in a loose circle around him. “No, my friends, I do believe magic is not only a science, but also a form of art.” Gwin turned a little, wrapping her tail around her body, and listened with interest. If anything, the word ‘art’ had captured her attention. “May I remind you, for example, of the beautiful and vibrant colors visible to an Aurist or the magnificent ice statues and water plays a Reimancer is capable of? Yes, we learn the theory, Djed and everything, but that isn’t what it’s all about. If we limit it to that aspect, we are like the blind man trying to appreciate the colors of a painting. I think it is our duty to the ancient legacy of magic to see beyond.” There he paused for a moment, giving the others a chance to digest and comment. With a simple gesture, he pushed strands of chestnut hair out of pale eyes and smoothed the front of his blue tunic.