<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/00/BrownAjah.jpg)</div><strong>Character name:</strong>Nasha Al'Maena<br/><strong>Position:</strong>Sister, Brown Ajah<br/><strong>Tag:</strong>Beneth<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Evening, Saven 5th, 990NE<br/><strong>Place:</strong>Library<br/><strong>Warning:</strong>N/a<br/><hr/><div style="text-align: justify;">Nasha stopped herself a few seconds too short. Her cream-colored dress with gold embroidery now had a blaring ink smudge along the thigh where she had felt the need to rub a slightly cramped muscle. She had this nasty habit of sitting on her ankle, something no amount of scolding during novicehood had ironed out of her, and once she reached accepted she had learned to control her habit just enough not to be caught. She remained oblivious to the drying dark spot until she raised her hand  to scratch her nose and noticed that a crack in her over-used and beaten pen had let ink seep onto her fingers.<br/><br/>Once upon a time, when she was not yet Aes Sedai, that stain would have brought her a world of trouble. Now, though, getting rid of it was simple. Nasha reached out in a manner that training made most natural and embraced Saidar.  Disciplined, she did not let it fill her, but trickled just enough Air and Earth to push the ink out of her skin to form tiny, hardened pebbles, and then focused on her dress for the same result.<br/><br/>Research was something that Nasha loved. She could get lost into it to the point of forgetting to eat, or to realize that she should have gone to the washroom half an hour ago but had been too focused to notice. Angreal, Ter'angreal, Sa'angreal; so much knowledge lost. She was busy cross-referencing an event where something required a chair to bind people to their word, but nowhere was the chair described so far. She was buried in her own pile of books, with a few different notebooks scattered all around her, but now no pen to take the notes she so direly needed. There was more at the front desk, and so Nasha stood with a clear purpose.<br/><br/>Unlike many browns, Nasha took great pride in how she looked. Her dress was delicate, with a gold threefoil wreath embroidered at the him of the skirt and the sleeves, but also around the square neckline that showed a hint of cleavage. She had a cold belt at her thin waist, where was hooked a pouch and a sheathed knife that was obviously more utilitarian than anything. Her brown slippers made almost no sound as she glided toward the front of the library, and if not for the swishing of her skirts, she might not have attracted attention. There was no sign that her high had been smudged with ink at any point. <br/><br/><em>"Wolves...wolves...wolves...come on, there's got to be something here..."</em> The words carried to her as she came back with a new, clean pen to resume taking notes. Her steps slowed as she arrived at her table, two tables over, and she looked at the man over her own wall of books. Her hand went to her brown-fringed shawl which was found among the books and slipped it over her shoulders before heading toward the man who had caught her attention. She pulled the chair at his table, not waiting to be invited, and sat facing the man. <br/><br/>"Why the fascination for wolves?" She asked softly as to not disturb other readers. She had not yet seen his eyes, or any other hint of the man's talent.</div>