I tried not to think about Jared's words as I set to work on the scroll.
There was a small desk near the windows of my room, showered in crisp, early spring sunlight. I set up camp there, rummaging around in the drawers for paper and several quills, then set to work.
Translating anything from Pritian was always a challenge, especially with no published texts to work from. Pritian was nothing but symbols that danced in an uneven rhythm. It could be read side to side, left to right, right to left, or even top to bottom, so on, and so forth, which is why, after nearly two hours of copying directly from the scroll and then doing my best to translate each individual symbol on a separate piece of paper, I found myself with a toe-curling headache that had me seeing stars every time I blinked.
