“KATARA!”
Madam Gurdurt stared down at me, arms folded across her chest. I practically launched myself from my seat, realizing the schoolhouse was empty and I had spent the last two hours completely zoned out.
“Katara,” she growled.
Her hideous face twisted into an even uglier scowl. At least, I was almost entirely sure she was scowling. Her face always looked like that. I kept my gaze fixed courteously on the dirt floor of the shack the monastery allowed her to use for her classes. Madam Gurdurt hated it when people stared at her. The warts on her face always distracted them from the conversation.
“How many times,” the old hag continued, her tone sharp, “Have I told you to keep your head down?”
Too many to count.
My hand rested on the ragged, deer skin satchel on my hip, out of fear that Madam Gurdurt would try to burn another one of my precious stories as a punishment. Madam McEnery sat by her desk at the far end of the room. She pretended to busy herself with grading our reports on the period leading up to the War of Ravens, which I had also forgotten to tell them about being ruined.
“Tell me you at least,” Madam Gurdurt pressed her lips to her teeth. “Finished your report?”
I waited a beat and tried to come up with a valid reason on why I hadn’t done it: I overslept; I lost it; it’s boring; a dragon stole it because it was truly a treasure to behold. No, none of my usual excuses would do this time. Much to my horror, I contemplated telling her the truth for once.
“Well, you see- “
“ENOUGH!”
I closed my mouth, my teeth smacking together with a tink.
“I have heard too many lies come out of that mouth of yours! Let me guess? Did a fairy take it?” She hissed, spit flying everywhere. “Or you left it in Leon’s shop? Ooh, how about the one where Gajeel eats it?”
But Gajeel had eaten my report once. She knew that too.
Gajeel, my lovable, green-haired friend, had a knack for eating not so edible things-by no mental defect of any kind, mind you, he did it just to prove that he could. One time, when we were ten, I had told him that river lilies couldn’t cure ink poisoning. To prove me wrong, he had eaten the report I had worked on all night, as well as a handful or fresh river lilies his father had growing in his greenhouse. I was right (as usual), and Gajeel was sick for a month from the poisoning.
I opened my mouth to defend myself but Madam Gurdurt was prepared. She whipped out her thin, leather riding crop she kept tied to her belt. A shock ran down my spine as she flicked it in warning. I could still feel the stinging from scars previous lashes had given me across my arms and back.
Madam McEnery, being the savior she is, cleared her throat loudly and stepped forward. Her long, silver hair was piled into a giant bun on top her head, it swished in tune with her long, now amber stained robes. “I will see you at home, Katara. Madam Gurdurt and I have a meeting to attend.”
I sighed in relief, thankful beyond words for the Godsend: Madam McEnery.
“I want it finished and turned in by tomorrow,” Madam Gurdurt scoffed. I opened my mouth to complain that one day was not enough time. I had to outline the assignment; let the ink dry, which by itself was at least four to five hours. Madam Gurdurt flicked her wrist and the crop slashed across my cheek. It stung, but not as bad as my back would have if I hadn’t kept quiet.
I bowed my head and drew my cloak tight against me, immediately fleeing the schoolhouse. Like most Sardathelian’s who braced the year long winter, the cold didn’t often bother me. But even I thought that day was particularly cold.
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