Saoirse had never been the sort to get lost in books which, she had always thought, had been a shame. She had been given a rare oppunitity as a child, one of the few in the alienage to both read and write before being shipped off the Circle. After that did happen, she spent more time absorbed in the Chant than history and even ignored her magical studies at times.

But now, she is careful as she picks through the tomes that have been laid out before them. Nose scrunched, she picks one up and dusts away from the settled dirt and grim. Every moment seems thoughtful, almost scared any sudden movements would result in disaster...