This time, in order to keep her research secret, the witch slowly opens the door as the moons shine bright on the landscape. All appeared unnaturally quiet, possibly waiting for the chaos that Mas brings. Kyre grimaces a the door squeaks contemplating briefly if the sound was simply a laugh of Nargun berating her for living in a house versus the trees as before. Standing still, barely daring to breath, Kyre waits for any noise indicating she has woken up the house.. yet nothing. The project she is doing now is so important to her, but frowned upon by anyone knowing what it is hence her attempt to keep it very quiet. Of course it is possible the spell simply can't be done.... yet the decision is made after years of contemplation, she must try.
All the books and scrolls she could find and read were in her journal meticulously listed. For once her writing was very neat. Some she couldn't interpret but hoped to find others to help reference. The stack of books carried now were found hidden behind the desk to keep the children from blithely adding drawings to some of the parchments.
One of several oil lamps were lit at the mage house as if someone had been there recently, yet the building now was empty. Kyre peruses each scroll, manuscript and book working from top to bottom making small scribbles in her journal of items she wished to return to. The witch wanted to be careful of what she put even in the journal however, just in case someone looked at it.
so used a mixture of old elven and ancient.
The writing occasionally was so blurred she decided to set one or two aside to look at later with the sun's bright light. It was those she felt may have the best answer. After all, this hadn't been done before. The burning question was...can it be done and would Nargun allow?
In her element as a mage and witch, Kyre studies through the night until the first call of the morning birds, the first rays of the sun and the first miners pass on their way to get supplies for the day's work. She hid her books in a lower drawer and journal in a bookcase, just as the lamp light flickered warning of almost empty oil. Rubbing her red eyes, the witch makes her way home after stopping at the market for breakfast from a cook grateful for the early customer.