"You shall be as he was I suppose," she glanced over his shiftless clothing. "You shall be the Mountain-I-See. That is how I will know where to go."
"Don't live like that Vren," Gregor implored. "You can be your own mountain. Here." He opened a sack that had been lying on the floor and rummaged around for a bit. In seconds he produced two objects: a round disk with a glint of silver, and a book, twice as thick as the leather in which it was bound. First, he tossed the disk to Onion.
"Open it."
A small switch when compressed split the disk in two on a hinge, which Onion proceeded to fiddle with. She nearly ignored the moving arrow dancing on unfamiliar symbols that lie on the inside of the disk. "What is the purpose of this?" Onion asked.
"It is a compass. This is how we determine where we are headed, this is how we know where and how to go. It is yours now. Use it, and when you come out of the University, you will never be lost again." Next, Gregor gave her the book which she readily clutched, studying the embroidered silver lettering without a shred of comprehension.
"This was my closest companion during my days in the Outer Crest. The Nü dialect is standard north, and it is Lithenese, not Eirdren, but both are close enough to help you some at least.
"Make this life your own, or you will simply be a web without a spider." Gregor offered, though the Tales of the Spider were obscure and antiquated among the Nüish tribes he interacted with. He continued, "Learn our words; that is a power, that is your compass to this world, these cultures."
She smiled for his gift and words, and his earnestness won her over. For her part, she could not refuse his gift and admit to him the simple truth about herself:
Onion could not read.
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