The sun peeked above the mountains east of Sonvico, its first direct rays streaming through the trees as if in applause to the symphony of songbirds. The leaves cast their dappled shadows onto the path below.
"What a glorious day," the man thought. "The Lady continues to show us Her grace."
He paused in his walk to drink in the singing of the birds and the smell of the birch and oak around him. He enjoyed these slow walks in the quiet of the early morning. The upper well never got much traffic, even though its water was sweeter than those in the compound. It allowed him to freshen himself up and get his morning walk at the same time, often without seeing so much as a squirrel.
A blur of deep brown rounded the bend just in front of the man, startling him out of his reverie and knocking him off the path. He quickly steadied himself against a tree and looked back down the path to his left. A young boy, probably about ten years old, was running down the path with two buckets of water.
"Hold, my son," the man called out.
The boy slowed, then stopped, and then turned to face him. His hair, black as ink, spilled down his forehead and into his green eyes. The dark brown of his robes now revealed the crest of Elminoir, making this one of the boys from the compound. Though breathing heavily, the boy still demonstrated the fidgeting of youth, and the ruddiness of his exertion shone through the tan of his cheeks.
"Are the minions of Sater after you? I very nearly wore this birch bark as a tattoo upon my forehead."
The boy lowered his buckets and bowed. "My apologies, sir. I should not have endangered one so elderly and fragile as yourself in my haste. I seek only to finish my chores."
"As fragile as myself," the man thought. "What an impudent boy! But still, there's something about him..."
"You seek to finish them with all speed," he said to the boy. "Why?"
"Today is my first day of school - wizardry school, that is. I want to be sure I get a good seat. I hear that brother Edgar is one of the best wizards in the order, possibly even in the Empire!"
"Really! What is your name, son?"
"Sceva, sir."
"Very well, Sceva. Proceed. But do try not to rupture any spleens on your way, hmm?"
The boy bowed again, picked up his buckets, and ran down the path. It seemed that his buckets spilled more water than they contained with every stride.
The man stared after him, even after he disappeared from view.
Sceva ran to the stables and emptied his buckets into the water trough of his mistress' horse.
"Don't worry, Barton," he said as he patted the horse's neck, "I'll bring you more after class. Really." Barton twitched an ear and stared at him skeptically. Sceva pretended he didn't notice and scampered to his classroom.
When Sceva arrived he found about ten kids already there. However, there were still several seats open in the front row. Sceva hurriedly slipped into one in the middle of the back row, where the balcony hung over and provided a bit of shadow. The room filled quickly with kids, most of them older than Sceva by at least three years.
"What am I doing here," he thought. "Has Trista finally gone mad?" The teacher's arrival interrupted his thoughts.
Brother Edgar was a tall man, perhaps two full meters. He was already grey with wisdom and worry, though it was said he had barely seen fifty winters. He proceeded to a small desk set on the left side of the stage, deposited some books and parchments, and then turned to face the class. Sceva tried to see how small he could become.
"Sceva, my lad," Brother Edgar called out. "I thought you wanted a good seat. These have much better light."
Brother Edgar, still wearing moss on his robes, motioned to Sceva with an odd gesture. Sceva found himself rising out of his chair, where he hovered a few inches over the head of the boy in front of his now empty seat. Brother Edgar gestured again and Sceva began levitating toward the stage, where Brother Edgar gently sat him into an empty seat in the front row.
"You should really sit as closely as you can, lad," Brother Edgar said with a smile. "The elderly and fragile among us often have very weak voices."