'Last night was great.'
I just can't get it out of my head. The moon-lit banquet. Everyone's smiling faces, the music, and of course the food. It was a great time, and I'm glad I spent it with them.
I look to Kate and Marshal.
We're sitting in the fairly empty common room musing over our course sheets. Today was an "exploration day" as the headmaster called it. Though I was convinced it was just a good excuse not to get yelled at for starting classes without a majority of the first years, but my senior cleared up that theory. Apparently, this "exploration day" is something all first years experience.
We're basically allowed to roam the academy, and do whatever we want. We were also given course sheets—what we are currently filling out. It's basically a schedule. First years are required to attend two academic classes—history and nature—but we were also allowed to pick two clubs. There's a surprisingly long list of choices as well.
There's everything ranging from theoretical magic to knitting. I didn't understand the vast range of choices with such a full schedule, but my senior told me it's only full like that in the first year. After our first year, our free time should increase. Our school life will also slowly shift from academics and training, and more towards skill building, missions and quests. Though it isn't really free time—we just won't have to study, but that wasn't till our third year.
When I asked my senior what year she was in she said she was on her fifth. This is strange because I'm sure that the third year is the graduation year. She brushed me off saying she didn't have to graduate.
I sigh even now at my carefree upperclassmen. She eerily reminds me of my mom. I shake my head with a chuckle. Kate peers at me in interest.
"Did you find one you like," she asks, lowering her course sheets.
"Uh—" I start, my eyes darting across the page I was on.
"—the pottery one looks pretty cool," I finish.
Kate tilts her head, curiously leaning over to look at my page. "I'm surprised you want that one. I was sure you'd go for cooking," she says.
"There's cooking," I ask, a little too excited.
"Yeah, but don't you want to do pottery," Kate asks.
"I still have my second club. Also, I just wanted to check out pottery is all," I mumble.
"I see," she says, bringing up her papers to cover most of her face. She peeks over them to look at me, "Then we should go check it out when you're done," she offers.
"I'd like that," I say, dredging up every memory I have of whittling.
'They're similar enough right—maybe if enough skill translates... I can end up making something to impress her again.'
My mind flashes to my scythe at the arena.
'And this time there's zero way for the mark to interfere. Perfect!'
After 20 minutes or so, I think I have a promising list of potential clubs. 'Cooking, survival basics, pottery, smithing, and Cardinal tongue.' It's an interesting enough list, and they're all things I'm interested in but still. I'm not entirely sure about the last one—Cardinal Tongue.
It's the written language elves use when drawing marks. I happen to be very familiar with it. My mom had tried to teach it to me when I was young, but I gave up. The language is notoriously hard to learn among non-elves.
Being a language of instructions you actually had to learn a certain phrase, then write it in your mind before you wrote or even attempted to read the language. You needed to be able to do it without even thinking. The reason being, without writing those instructions it wouldn't matter how many hours you study—you wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of anything in the language.
There's no particular thing I had to gain from learning the language. I couldn't infuse the words I wrote with magic so it wasn't like I'd be able to go around healing anyone, but since the first time I've attempted to learn it, I've gained a reason to want to understand it.
But the more I think about it the more I feel like it pointed to nothing, but a dead end. No elf I've encountered—even ones close to me—have been able to make sense of the mark's meaning.
I grip my papers upset. 'Survival basics it is.'
While I now had my heart set on the cooking club there's no way I'm going to pass up on the opportunity to at least try making a sculpture for Kate. I look at the example schedule on the last page.
'Looks like sparring and training happen at the end of the day. Whose idea was it to have history lessons first thing in the morning.'
I've read history books—I've also never finished them—they're pretty boring. Luckily my mom only owned one, and all the other books I had were stories and legends. They're my favorite as far as reading goes. I can only hope the instructor wasn't as grumpy and strict as the one that graded my written exam.
'I can only hope.' I think, setting down my papers.
Kate is twiddling her thumbs, and Marshal stares at his papers intensely.
"Did you finish," she immediately asks—I nod, "We're going to the pottery club right?"
"Yeah but," I glance to Marshal.
He's tapping his head with his quill—deep in thought. He waves us off, still focused on his papers.
"I'll be a while. Just go on without me, I'll watch your papers," he says, waving dismissively.
"Thanks, Marshal."
'You're the best.' my mind echoes. I look to Kate.
"Let's go," I tell her, standing up from my chair.
I make a beeline for the door before I realize I forgot to read the directions on how to even get to the pottery room. Kate stops of course wondering why I did.
"I forgot to read the directions," I admit.
"Oh, that's all," Kate giggles, "Don't worry I know the way."
She opens one of the main doors, and I follow after her. We start walking, and I notice we aren't heading toward the main building. I give Kate a curious glance, before she stops suddenly, not turning to face me.
"I- want to explore the school grounds a little with you—if you want to, that is," she says, trailing off.
"I don't mind," I say.
Kate merely nods, continuing forward. I think I caught her smiling, but she's definitely trying to hide her face—moving to a more brisk pace.
'The same girl that lent me her lap is embarrassed to ask to go on a walk.' I think, smiling incredulously. 'How curious.'
We walk for a while and stumble upon the academy garden. They're some gardeners and students tending to it. We give them a cheerful wave and marvel at the expansive field of crops. We talk with them, and they tell us they're currently harvesting the last of autumn's harvest. They will soon plant new crops for the coming winter season. We check out some of the fruit trees, and we find a little ground mole and its burrow.
Kate squeals about how cute it is. I laugh enjoying the sight. We visit the farm, then the stables. We make our way around the entire academy just as it's a little past noon. It was a lot of fun meeting some of the outdoor clubs.
I never quite realized how big the academy is, and I haven't even explored the inside. As we near the main building Kate finishes gushing about the cute little chicks we saw.
"I can't wait to make one as a little sculpture," she says grinning.
A cute image of one of the chicks flashes to mind—I fall in love with it instantly.
"C-could you make me one too," I ask.
"Hmm, but if you made it would look cooler," Kate says as I open the door for her.
"Maybe but if you make it I'm sure it'll turn out super cute," I say.
A light blush rises in Kate's cheeks, "What makes you so sure?"
'It only makes sense that such a cute maiden such as yourself would craft something equally as cute.' A wishful version of myself says internally.
"Well there's no way someone who likes cute things so much couldn't," I say instead.
Kate diverts her eyes unsure.
"I'll make you something too if you do—please," I ask.
Kate looks away hiding her face.
"Well, I can't say no if you ask so nicely. Whatever it is it better be cool."
I beam.
"It'll be the coolest," I say with a little too much confidence for someone who has only sculpted with wood.
We continue down the winding halls. I follow Kate intently. Every so often she'd pause to check the surrounding rooms or make a sudden change in direction. After a few minutes, we get to a room, the plaque on the door read "Pottery Club" there's also a smaller paper stuck on it that read "Come on in :)".
Kate opens the door, and we both walk into the room. The smell of clay and incense is very strong. Some older students turn their heads curiously. Some greet us warmly, welcoming us to their club. A shy-looking girl offers to introduce us to the club's instructor. We're led to a desk in the corner of the room. The woman—who I could only presume is this club's instructor—sits in the desk's chair deep in concentration. She doesn't look up from the mountain of clay she's working on.
"Excuse me, Ms. Latnum—" our senior starts.
"I'm busy right now Claire," the instructor hisses, very upset to have been interrupted.
"Oh," Claire squeaks shrinking back a bit, "But these first years here—"
"First years," Ms. Latnumr yelps.
She immediately looks up from what she's working on.
"Hello dears," she says, her voice softening, "You can go now Claire, thank you for guiding them."
Claire bows briefly scurrying off to a different part of the room.
"What are your names," Ms. Latnum asks.
"I'm Benji," I say gesturing to Kate, "And this is my friend Kate."
"And you both want to join our club," Ms. Latnum coos.
I didn't want to lie, but the real reason I'm here is a bit shameless.
"Well, we're interested in your club, and the description said we could visit to make something before we decide," I mumble.
"Yes yes. Don't feel pressured to join, dear. It's good enough to have some fresh hands on clay," Ms. Latnum says, with a brimming smile, "Come come."
She then grabs my hand leading me to a table with tubs of dust.
"So, dear, what will you be making today? A pot, a cup maybe? Or maybe you'd like to make a sculpture," Ms. Latnum asks, eyeing us intently.
"Sculpting. We want to make sculptures," I say looking over to Kate. She nods in agreement.
"Alright," Ms. Latnum says, as she waves her arm over the tubs of dust, " Tell me what kind of clay you would like to work with."
"I'd like something resistant. That I can whittle similar to wood—if you have something like that," I say, mumbling the last part.
"Of course! No need to be shy. Clay can be anything you want it to be, dear," Ms. Latnum coos, prying the lid off one of the tubs. She grabs a scooping cup, and takes some dust out of one of the tubs. She hands it to me looking at Kate.
"How would you like yours," she asks her.
"Um, I'd like something soft and easy to work with," Kate says.
Ms. Latnum nods, scooping from a different tub, and handing the cup and its contents to Kate. She then leads us to a clear table. She orders us to dump the dust onto it. She then takes our cups and shuffles over to a sink. She taps the mark on top and fills each cup to her preference. After this, she shuffles back to us and hands us our respective cups.
"Here's the fun part," Ms. Latnum coos, getting right next to me.
She demonstrates how we should mix, and knead the dust and water. She then grabs my hands and sticks them into the wet dust.
"Well, get to it," she says, letting go, and nodding to Kate.
After a while of kneading, it's finally starting to feel more like clay, and less like wet flour. The instructor watches us intently. After Kate has kneaded for a while, Ms. Latnum tells her that she's finished, and is ready to start. I stop as well.
"You're not done, dear. You still have got a lot more kneading to do," Ms. Latnum tells me. I groan going back to kneading the glob of clay.
Kate giggles, and begins to leave to another table. The distress is painted clearly on my face.
"Don't worry Benji. I'm just going somewhere else so that it's a surprise," Kate says.
"Okay," I say reluctantly, "I can't wait to see it."
Kate smiles, "It's going to be the cutest little chick you've ever seen," she says scampering off to a more secluded table near the corner in the back of the room.
I continue working my clay. It's beginning to make my hands ache from the kneading. It felt like trying to knead a log funnily enough. After one last knead Ms. Latnum deemed it perfect for sculpting. She goes to a cabinet and comes back with some tools. She hands me an assortment of blades similar to whittling tools. She uses a flat metal square to press my lump of clay into a rectangle.
"Whew, you're all set, dear," she says, "Enjoy!"
Ms. Latnum then walks to Kate handing her some basic modeling tools.
I stare at the block in front of me for a while. 'What to make. What to make.' I look back to where Kate is. She notices me and shields her unfinished clay sculpture from view. She sticks her tongue at me in a playful manner making me laugh.
'Something cool.'
'Something cute.'
'Someone...'
Then I had it—an idea had struck me—a certain girl, and scythe in mind. I grab a sculpting knife and begin my masterpiece.