Numair walked along the riverbed, mumbling to himself. He scuffed his foot against a tuft of river-weed, cursing. Three weeks spent on the translation, only to discover the key he'd used was flawed. Lindhall would tease him mercilessly for not checking his sources, and not for the first time. The river-weed fluttered in the current, root system pulling free from it's sandy bed. He cursed again and knelt.
He grasped the plant gently, pressing it back into the ground and using his gift to repair the damage he'd caused. "I'm sorry, friend. That wasn't very kind of me."
He watched black fire sparkle around the weed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His thoughts turned back to the lexicon and where his source could flawed as a school of darters came to inspect his handy-work.
Something larger moved to his left and he turned to see an otter inspecting him with a cocked head. Numair sighed; perhaps it would be best to eat his pride as just ask Lindhall for help. The otter circled around him; looping around him but not in a playful manner. He watched it, noticing the way it's head moved back and forth as if it were talking to him. It was unusual to see an otter so close to Corus —they usually nested further North.
"Oh," it clicked, "hello, Daine." He smiled, mildly, and watched her as she turned to hang upside down, head jerking back and forth. It took him another moment to realize she wasn't talking to him, but scolding him. "Oh, I suppose I forgot to tell you about this."