Her horn lit up with red energy as she levitated her saddlebags over to her, opening a flap she lifted out a weather beaten book. It was simple to look at, black leather bound as it was. Clearly not pony in origin, unless the ponies in question had no qualms about such practices back then. She didn’t know, nor did she care. Opening it she once more gazed over the familiar flowing script, long, elegant lines flowed in an exotic calligraphy that seemed to cover an entire page with but one, lone, word. Crimson knew better, within each stroke lay more such script, lines within lines, words within words and the power lay within understanding. One could speak the spell one sees on the page, but it may be entirely different then what one could muster by understanding the true depth of the magic. She cast a spell with her magic, enhancing her vision as she read the page.