20 Zi'da, 719
Continued from here.The trials passed on, as trials do. For Llyr, each trial came with less hope. He couldn't remain scrubbing the stone floors and cleaning forever. Eventually, he was dragged away from such chores. Given a choice to serve or not. Anyone could clean, but what Llyr was wanted for... was something else entirely.
Llyr sat at the table, in the small stone room, and he stared at the book and parchment in front of him. For breaks, he'd been copying the pages over into a newly written form. Why they couldn't use a printmaker to do this... he didn't know. Maybe they hoped he would tire of this as well, and eventually request for something more active. It seemed as if most tasks were active ones, after all.
He wouldn't though. The people here didn't quite understand him. They didn't realize how much of these sort of things he could handle, that he could endure tedium far more than the average person. His apprenticeship under his father had prepared him for such mundane situations.
Llyr cracked his neck to one side, then rolled his shoulders back. He picked up the quill, dipped it into the ink, then once again, started to copy over the words of the text onto the scroll. When he flipped to the next page, he realized why this particular book had been given to him along with the others. There was a passage in Vahanic. Did they hope he would translate it? Or was he meant to scribe it as it was?
The biqaj considered this, then decided to translate the passage alongside the original text.