Alright, so it's a little bit like an alphabet. Letters alone still bearing sound, but nothing so complete as words or sentences formed by themselves. Clarke listens with rapt attention, and carefully stares at each symbol he indicates, trying her best to emulate a camera and take snapshot images of the wards to remember later. But it's a little hard to focus entirely when almost every word out of Palamedes' mouth commands she drag her attention back to his face — sharply focused, intent, wanting to know more about alarm systems and the sense of personal control one had over their own blood.

It's fascinating. It's encouraging. Stuck on a ship with every shape and flavor of magic user and supernatural beings imaginable, constantly a mortal step behind and grasping at the straws of being able to learn sigil magic — she wants that.

"I didn't know you could break wards. How does that work?"