“An ancient method of writing in which lines run alternately from right to left and from left to right”
“This makes no feckin’ sense.” Prill groaned, tilting the aged manuscript back and forth, eyes crinkling and readjusting with each movement. Her grubby fingertips threatening to ruin the black ink embossed with gold that trawls across the ancient parchment.
“That’s because it’s Boustrophedon,” Trace says, taking the script from Prill cautiously with white-gloved hands.
“Bost-ro-phe-what-the-feck-that-tis?” Prill says, leaning over Trace’s shoulder and looking at the manuscript under the study light.
“It means, my dear Priscilla, that we need to read it in an opposite fashion than usual.” Trace beams, his inner-nerd truly on show.
“Oh, sounds fun!” Prill mocks, before sauntering over to the lounge and plopping herself down. “You enjo’ dat.”
“I will.” Trace chuckles, lowering his glasses, as he begins to decipher the text.