The ruckus died down and Lyrk found herself, along with her siblings, rummaging through pouches and bags of the fallen. It was another tribe that had decided to pick a fight with her own clan, a clan twice the size with thrice the bloodlust. The victory was swift and merciless, yet upheld the honor of the tribes with an unspoken agreement for no torture and honorable deaths of battle.
Her tribe was a noble one, if barbarians could be called that. Lyrk upheld traditions centuries old and honored her ancestors as rightfully as she could. The youngest daughter of her particular family meant she had little duties to the family other than to simply uphold the family name of Gonz without shaming or dishonoring it by associating with the wrong people. Her tribe had very few rules, but she kept to them as much as she could.
Just then, as Lyrk Gonz picked through useless gold items and meaningless papers, her ruddy fingers touched a smooth, cold object. She yanked on it curiously, only to realize it was another magical item. However it was too late; the magic seeped in through her hide gauntlet and she “ugg”ed in surprise. She couldn't drop it, try as she might, and before she could even call for help, her body tingled through to her core with a blue coldness. She squeezed her eyes shut, not afraid of death but yet full of apprehension, only to open her eyes again as if nothing had happened.
The blue river stone fell from her hand, magic depleted. Lyrk looked herself over, checking her hands and body for any spell residue or damage, but found nothing. Her siblings around her had taken a few steps back in alarm, but now curiously crept around her. She returned their quizzical expressions with bewilderment. She looked to the body she had been searching for some sort of clue as to what the magic was, but found none.
Something on the papers then caught her eye. She leaned down to inspect it cautiously, picking the paper up as tentatively as barbaric fingers could. The ink that had haphazardly smudged the page before suddenly spoke to her, in a way she hadn't previously thought it could. It was as if silent stories were suddenly on the page, and she could make sense of them.
Her brother, In, then came up to her and shoved her shoulder, an unspoken question as to what was going on. Lyrk growled back and skimmed the paper she was holding, then gathered up the rest. That same cold feeling came back with each new word. It was invigorating. Her sisters Lidz and Lyz came up next to her then, grunting in curiosity. Lyrk felt their presence threatening to her new findings, so she gathered up the papers and what looked like a sideless box that they had fallen out of, crammed them all together, then scurried off to a secluded area, hissing at anyone who came near.
For hours Lyrk pored over her findings, slowly making sense of it all. Stories, ones she felt fear for reading aloud, met end-to-end in the box, and she found that the doodles at the bottom of each paper was a number that kept them in order. While her family and friends looted weapons and clothes, she sat in a cave to herself, muttering the words into the drawing darkness.
When all light faded, she closed the box and stood. Curiosity teemed her mind, and she needed more knowledge. She had the desire for more knowledge, for once in her life, when all she has normally known was battle, blood, and victory. When the tribe had returned to their huts, Lyrk crept out of the cave and dug through the bodies once more, finding more papers and things to carry them in. And when the light of morning came, Lyrk set out on her own. She needed to find someone to share her findings in. Someone who would understand the magic of learning how to read in the instant of holding a blue stone, and who could help her cast the magic in the spellbook she had found.