There had been an earthquake three days before she crawled to the hunting party, all of three and near death from dehydration, half picked-over by the sort of small mal that lives or dies by that tiny a meal. The elder, looking at her critically, considered: bringing in outsiders was bad luck. It was a threat to their privacy and traditions - the fewer people knew about them, the easier it was for the clan to keep mal away, build spells that worked better for less mana, and maintain their traditions, through ritual and belief. If their clan became common knowledge, all that would be lost. But the leader's wife's heart went out to this child, which was no small consideration, and the child might bring positive change too, if she lived. They were all limited to dance-spells, signed-spells, and the very simplest sung-spells, but she could learn the spoken spells, and bring them back: the Clan was all deaf, and this child clearly wasn't. Her parents had probably been Americans, or Northern Europeans, camping some miles away when the earthquake had hit.

So they took her home and nursed her to health. She was terrified, of course, of these people with unfamiliar faces which moved in strange expressions. But she was more terrified of the vultures, and cuddling up against a woman's soft breast to suck on a rag wet with water felt better than running away.

She grew curious, and much much taller than anyone else, and with a particular spark for inventions. There was the question of how to get her a seat at the Scholomance: Sao Paolo'd had a scant year for children, and they insisted on a large favor to secure Ayla that empty spot, but it was possible to arrange sufficient privacy for Ruta (who had an affinity for wards) to go there in the night and cover the slight gaps in their spoken-spell defenses. That got Ayla a one-in-two chance, the best they could hope for.

It was clear from an early age that Ayla would go artifice, but that didn't make languages useless: once she was old enough to understand the absolute necessity of maintaining Internet privacy, she got a laptop and permission to find language lessons. She loves languages, and by the time it's her year she has French and English, as well as the clan's sign language. Whenever she feels the temptation to learn another, she tries to go deeper on the three she already has. By the time it's her turn to wait for induction or for nothing, her speaking voice sounds almost like the people in the videos: an accent from everywhere and nowhere, cadence that's not quite so fluid, but it's enough for casting spoken spells, and if it's not enough for making allies she'll learn that soon.

In the middle of the night she's sitting cross-legged, shaved head and pack on, and the hook grabs her around the middle and pulls, and pulls -

There had been an earthquake three days before she crawled to the hunting party, all of three and near death from dehydration, half picked-over by the sort of small mal that lives or dies by that tiny a meal. The elder, looking at her critically, considered: bringing in outsiders was bad luck. It was a threat to their privacy and traditions - the fewer people knew about them, the easier it was for the clan to keep mal away, build spells that worked better for less mana, and maintain their traditions, through ritual and belief. If their clan became common knowledge, all that would be lost. But the leader's wife's heart went out to this child, which was no small consideration, and the child might bring positive change too, if she lived. They were all limited to dance-spells, signed-spells, and the very simplest sung-spells, but she could learn the spoken spells, and bring them back: the Clan was all deaf, and this child clearly wasn't. Her parents had probably been Americans, or Northern Europeans, camping some miles away when the earthquake had hit.

So they took her home and nursed her to health. She was terrified, of course, of these people with unfamiliar faces which moved in strange expressions. But she was more terrified of the vultures, and cuddling up against a woman's soft breast to suck on a rag wet with water felt better than running away.

She grew curious, and much much taller than anyone else, and with a particular spark for inventions. There was the question of how to get her a seat at the Scholomance: Sao Paolo'd had a scant year for children, and they insisted on a large favor to secure Ayla that empty spot, but it was possible to arrange sufficient privacy for Ruta (who had an affinity for wards) to go there in the night and cover the slight gaps in their spoken-spell defenses. That got Ayla a one-in-two chance, the best they could hope for.

It was clear from an early age that Ayla would go artifice, but that didn't make languages useless: once she was old enough to understand the absolute necessity of maintaining Internet privacy, she got a laptop and permission to find language lessons. She loves languages, and by the time it's her year she has French and English, as well as the clan's sign language. Whenever she feels the temptation to learn another, she tries to go deeper on the three she already has. By the time it's her turn to wait for induction or for nothing, her speaking voice sounds almost like the people in the videos: an accent from everywhere and nowhere, cadence that's not quite so fluid, but it's enough for casting spoken spells, and if it's not enough for making allies she'll learn that soon.

In the middle of the night she's sitting cross-legged, head shaved and pack on, and the hook grabs her around the middle and pulls, and pulls -

There had been an earthquake three days before she crawled to the hunting party, all of three and near death from dehydration, half picked-over by the sort of small mal that lives or dies by that tiny a meal. The elder, looking at her critically, considered: bringing in outsiders was bad luck. It was a threat to their privacy and traditions - the fewer people knew about them, the easier it was for the clan to keep mal away, build spells that worked better for less mana, and maintain their traditions, through ritual and belief. If their clan became common knowledge, all that would be lost. But the leader's wife's heart went out to this child, which was no small consideration, and the child might bring positive change too, if she lived. They were all limited to dance-spells, signed-spells, and the very simplest sung-spells, but she could learn the spoken spells, and bring them back: the Clan was all deaf, and this child clearly wasn't. Her parents had probably been Americans, or Northern Europeans, camping some miles away when the earthquake had hit.

So they took her home and nursed her to health. She was terrified, of course, of these people with unfamiliar faces which moved in strange expressions. But she was more terrified of the vultures, and cuddling up against a woman's soft breast to suck on a rag wet with water felt better than running away.

She grew curious, and much much taller than anyone else, and with a particular spark for inventions. There was the question of how to get her a seat at the Scholomance: Sao Paolo'd had a scant year for children, and they insisted on a large favor to secure Ayla that empty spot, but it was possible to arrange sufficient privacy for Ruta (who had an affinity for wards) to go there in the night and cover the slight gaps in their spoken-spell defenses. That got Ayla a one-in-two chance, the best they could hope for.

It was clear from an early age that Ayla would go artifice, but that didn't make languages useless: once she was old enough to understand the absolute necessity of maintaining Internet privacy, she got a laptop and permission to find language lessons. She loves languages, and by the time it's her year she has French and English, as well as the clan's sign language. Whenever she feels the temptation to learn another, she tries to go deeper on the three she already has. By the time it's her turn to wait for induction or for nothing, her speaking voice sounds almost like the people in the videos: an accent from everywhere and nowhere, cadence that's not quite so fluid, but it's enough for casting spoken spells, and if it's not enough for making allies she'll learn that soon.

In the middle of the night she's sitting cross-legged, head shaved and pack on, and the hook grabs her around the middle and pulls, and pulls -