Language

Mora was pouring over her books when her little brother, James, came up behind her. She was focused on her studies, taking careful and detailed notes on what she was reading, and so she didn't notice him quietly approaching. He looked over her shoulder, but he couldn't make out any of the words that his sister was reading. They looked like scrambled letters that didn't have any meaning, and between the multiple books, there didn't even seem to be any consistencies between how the letters were arranged. But Mora was reading them carefully, and she seemed to be able to make sense of it all, which very much confused James.

"What are you reading?" he asked very abruptly. The sudden noise scared Mora, who nearly jumped out of her seat, marking an unsightly line across her paper. She looked back to see her brother, standing there as if nothing was wrong, completely oblivious to how he had just nearly made her soil her pants. She sighed and sat back into her seat, trying to level out her breath. James continued to stand there, looking inquisitively at her, waiting for an answer.

Mora rubbed her forehead, trying to get her thoughts straight. "I'm reading Latin," she explained. "And some Middle English. Two translations of the same story. I'm trying to see what is consistent and inconsistent between them, and see if I can tell if it has anything to do with the language, or if it was just choices made by the translator." James blinked a few times, trying to fully understand what his sister was telling him.

"What's Latin?" he asked. "And what's the difference between normal English and Middle English?"

"Well, James," Mora explained, "Latin and Middle English are both dead languages. Nobody speaks them anymore."

"If they're dead, does that mean they used to be alive? And if no one speaks them anymore, then why are you reading them? That seems silly."

Mora smiled. James' simple, naive questions always had a way of making her do that. "They did use to be alive," she said, "but not in the way that you and I are alive. For a language to be alive, it needs someone to speak it. It can only live through others."

"Can you speak them?"

"Sort of."

"Then that means they're not dead, right?"

Mora chuckled softly. "I may be able to speak them, but I don't use them as my form of communication. I wouldn't speak them to you. That's the difference. Do you understand?" James pondered on it for a moment, then nodded. "I'm reading them because I enjoy them. I want to understand them, because they are a part of history. They are some of the building blocks of our English."

"They don't look anything like our English," James replied. "I can't read them at all. They don't look like real words."

"They're very different from our English, yes," she continued, "but the parts that make up the words may be closer to our own English than you might think." She picked up her Latin book, and shoed him one of the words. "See this word? Regis? It means 'of the King.' Can you think of any words related to kings that look like regis?"

James squinted his eyes, looking at the word, trying to think. After a long moment, he smiled brightly. "Regal!" he exclaimed.

His sister smiled proudly. "That's right. You see? And there are lots of words like that, in both Latin and Middle English. That's why people still learn them. So that they can see where we have come from, and have a greater understanding of who we are and where we've come from."

James nodded, and looked down at the books. "Mora?" he asked. "Can you teach me to read those like you can?"

Mora chuckled and nodded. "Sure, James. I can do that."