“It is astounding, those you meet throughout life – and what they later come to be”
- Old Traveler’s Proverb

It was one of those rare summer afternoons. The sun was shining as usual, but there was also a gusty breeze running its long fingers through the oaks and maples, whose swaying limbs and dancing leaves cast lively shadows over the warm stones and cool grass. The parapets and lawns of Eneoa always seemed as if they were under a spell when the wind blew like that; which, of course, made it difficult for the students to concentrate on their books.
The younger classes were mostly kept indoors during afternoon study, under the supervision of the professors. The older classes, however, were allowed to manage themselves, provided that they kept quiet and at least pretended to be reading or writing. On this particular afternoon, two such students were seated under the old apple tree by the main gate with a pile of books and papers between them, scrutinizing various medical formulae and terminology.
“You know, Mr. Barkbacker would have a fit if he knew these books were out here, John,” one remarked to the other. He was dressed in a loose fitting white shirt and brown trousers, and was leaning up against the smooth brick of the outer wall.
“But he doesn’t, and you worry too much,” his friend replied, picking up another sheet of notes. “Besides, Tim, how were we supposed study in a library full of the younger classes?” John sighed and leaned back against the apple tree’s trunk. “So you were saying that the seed of a marsh flower can be used to make a person breathe?”
“Not quite. See, it’s a bit more specific than that,” Timothy explained patiently. “It’s not a matter of just…”
“Yes?”
Timothy seemed to have suddenly forgotten their conversation, and was looking up past the old brick gardener’s shed to a figure sitting against one of the dormitory walls.
“Who’s that?” he asked, setting down his book.
“Hmm?” John grunted, not looking up from his papers.
“Over there, sitting with her back to the wall. Looks like one of the new class.”
“Oh.” John said, glancing up reluctantly. “Oh yes, yes. She was in my charge during the winter training. Frail little thing. No idea why she’s here.”
“Look’s like she’s sleeping,” Timothy mumbled, leaning forward and staring more intently.
“Most likely crying,” John commented. “But that doesn’t help us with this test, you know.”
Timothy said nothing, but continued staring. “Ah,” his companion huffed, slamming his book shut. “We’re not getting anything done anyway. We might as well go and get some food.”
“She sits there every afternoon for three hours while her classmates are studying,” Timothy stated.
“And?” John questioned, standing up with his study materials under his arm.
“You don’t find that odd?”
John shrugged. “The stars know – it’s not our problem.”
“How old is she anyway?”
“Nine, youngest in her class.”
“Nine…” Timothy repeated as he stood up slowly, still watching the distant figure.
“Bother you,” John finally said. “I’m going to get some food. Come along if you like; otherwise, I’ll look for you after dinner.”
“Bye,” Timothy mumbled back, without shifting his gaze. He watched for a while after his friend was gone, but the figure didn’t move.
“Nine years old,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t know if I would have survived the first year at that age. You’d think they’d go a little easier, not harder.”
Pausing for a while in thought, he stared at the ground in front of him. Then, clasping his hands behind his back, he began to walk silently up the lawn toward the figure. Scenes from his own first year flashed through his mind: nights spent on the dorm roof without sleep, mealtimes waiting on the older classes, and other such stresses.
The wind slowed as he walked. The rustle of the trees became more distant, and the first chills of evening seemed to be creeping up through the ground. He kept his gaze fixed ahead of him as he approached the figure, but still watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was shaking, noticeably, and Timothy thought that he could hear the faint sound of sniffing as well. Her head was buried in her hands, so that she did not see him as he passed her, walking silently. He continued a little further until he had come up to the gate of the inner keep, and then leaned up against the outer side and waited.
He did not have to wait long, however, before the deep, hollow sound of the evening bell tolled out across the fortress. Students began to filter in from various locations around the outer lawns, most with collections of study materials and dusty books similar to the ones Timothy and his friend had been using earlier.
“Evening, Tim,” several of the students greeted him as they passed through the gate. He nodded in return, but said nothing.
Finally, after most of them had walked by, he saw the figure approaching. She was wearing the standard garb of a younger class girl: a simple, black dress with a golden “E” embroidered in the center and white trim about the collar and ends of the long sleeves. He still did not look directly at her, pretending to have his gaze fixed on the treetops of the forest outside. Even then he noticed something right away which surprised him: she was obviously a daughter of the northern plains-tribe, the Agurri, who were not accepted into the school.
When she was only a short distance away, she stopped, uncertainly.
“Good – good evening sir,” she said. The soft flow of her accent left no doubt in Timothy’s mind that she was, indeed, an Agurri. “Sir?” she questioned shakily, looking up at him.
He looked directly back at her, but said nothing.
“By your leave, sir?” she tried again.
“Wait,” he said, slowly crossing his arms. “Why were you not studying with the rest of you class?”
At this, the girl looked down. “Punishment, sir,” she whispered.
“By a professor?” Timothy asked.
“By my warden, sir,” she replied, shuffling uneasily.
“Hmm,” Timothy mused. After a pause, he asked, “What did you do?”
To his surprise, she broke into tears, sniffing loudly and wiping her face with her dress sleeves.
“I don’t know,” she finally said.
“Bother,” Timothy whispered to himself, looking around. The outer lawns were deserted besides a few squirrels, and the breeze had begun to rustle the tree branches again. He bent down, so that his eyes were level with hers.
“Does your warden do anything like this to the other girls in your class?” he asked pointedly.
“No sir,” the girl replied quietly, attempting to choke back her tears.
Timothy sighed. “Listen,” he began, gently. “They tried to do the same thing to me my first year. You can’t – you can’t just give up.”
He was going to go on and say something about perseverance, but he suddenly realized that the expression on her face had changed. Her large brown eyes were full of sadness but also of hope, and they were fixed on him as he spoke.
He straightened up, again surprised.
“Umm…” he stammered. “You should probably go and get some food now.”
She turned to leave, and began walking towards the dining hall, brushing the hair out of her face with a tear-stained dress sleeve.
“Wait,” Timothy said, suddenly. He pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and held it out to her. “Best wipe your face off. You don’t want to go in there looking like that.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said. And with that, she took the handkerchief and ran off toward the dining hall.