A day later, most of her homicidal wishes towards the two initiates had faded enough that her mind’s mention of their names didn’t set her hands itching for two scrawny little necks. This was not to say, however that her anger was much diminished. Sitting in her chair waiting for them, her whip and belt knife were well out of arm’s reach and she didn’t come a hundred feet within a bottle of alcohol lest the fumes somehow ignite a drunken temper.

 

Hazel eyes glared at the door impatiently, waiting for her summons to be answered. Seated in her cushioned armchair, she had a small table with tea set up beside it as usual. The kettle was there but only one cup: hers. These two were not guests as Lillian sometimes was here- she hadn’t even brought chairs for the two of them to sit on while they bore the brunt of her wrath.

 

There was no smile on her face as they came in and no acknowledgment for their curtsies. Instead, she launched right to the point.

 

Having come up with something particularly nasty, a cruel smile broke her face. “You two,” she snarled at the mentor-mentee pair “threw Tower decorum; threw normal human decency to the winds. As an Accepted, Westrel, it is a general expectation for behavioural habits to mature- which obviously they haven’t yet. If you have any prayer of making it to the Shawl someday, I suggest you pick up your socks and act your age.

 

“As for you,” a bony finger was pointed at the legging-ed girl who received the same ire ad her elder “despite being among the newest Novices, some slight misdeeds for sake of ignorance may be ignored. You Child, blew the “slight misdeeds” category out of the water. This is the White Tower and you won’t be leaving here until we say you can and unless you plan on making your stay, however brief or long it may be, absolutely miserable, I suggest you learn some rules for proper behaviour of people before moving on to proper behaviour for Novices.”

 

At this point, her vindictive smile returned. “And now on to suitable punishment. You two will be in charge up cleaning up after the mess you left in these halls. This includes washing floors, walls, drying tapestries and other wrecked articles as well as writing apologies to all Blue Sisters in the Tower for the inconvenience you caused them. Of course, this is just cleaning up after yourselves. Having completed that, you will report to the Mistress of Kitchens for work. I believe there is to be a ham for dinner tonight and I’m sure they’ll need some help catching those pigs and dragging them off to the slaughterhouse. Seeing as you two are so fond of running and have so much additional energy, I’m sure neither will mind the harder labour.”

 

Estel

There was no question in the new novice’s mind that had she drifted off to sleep at the feet of the Aes Sedai, the woman would not have paid attention. So inwardly focused was she on the “punishment” she had whipped up for both Rory and her Mentor Saline. It was almost a shame that Saline would be forced to endure such torturous conditions alongside her, but then she had thrown her lot in with the rest of them in trying to stop her leaving, yes, she had been the first to do so ... perhaps not such a shame after all.

 

Rory pretended to be paying attention during the tirade, when in sooth she was not. Why would she? Some over-grown windbag was not going to talk all uppity high and mighty to her. No sir. Especially not when she had been kept against her will, the silly old goat deserved everything that happened to her and more, and Rory was determined to see that she received those desserts she so easily prepared. Light the woman could talk!

 

There it was her punishment, not exactly inventive; although she suspected someone had tried their best. Hello, Innkeeper’s daughter, hard physical work was not entirely uncommon. The pigs were a nice touch, heck, a tussle in the mud might be fun, especially in her pretty white dress. Oh how she loathed it. The important thing was that she had resisted until such time as the attempt was made to put it on for her: formal protest acknowledged.

 

Rory was missing something in her mental arithmetic: the Aes Sedai all believed she should behave herself, submit to their authority; curtsey, grovel, scrape, maybe lick a few boots here and there. Why they thought she would be grateful, even pleased, was beyond her. As far as she was concerned she was a prisoner of war, and life was going to be as complicated and difficult for as many people as could be managed until they gave up and let her go home.

 

With tirade over and bloated toad sated, Rory and Saline had left to their own devices, such as it was. Scrubbing the floor sure beat the Dark One’s blood out of listening to the woman talk. For some reason the shawls, as she considered them, thought that those colourful pieces of cloth somehow demanded respect and or obedience, not the sympathy for poor fashion sense that she was more inclined to offer. No accounting for poor taste.

 

Rory purposefully sloshed water all over her ... whatever the sheet was wearing was called. Pettiness was fine. Power to the people; down with the man, whatever it was that normally fuelled rebellion. She noticed very quickly that the soapy water made the floor very slippery. Rory paused in her work and weighed things very carefully. Oh yes, it was definitely a good idea, but she was going to need more water.

 

 

 

00C: If I need to change anything let me know, I really have no idea what I'm doing, but I'll be damned if I'm waiting for Wo de.

And for those who show me respect... freedom.

As Saline stripped Rory of her leggings there was absolute certainty in the Taraboner's mind that had she been a character in a story she would have been the villianous slavetrader on a wargalley forcefeeding the prisoners with an unpleasant noseplug before they starved themselves for a better price in the auction house. It was Rossa who had the cunning plan of taking turns and keeping an eye in front of Rory's door in case the Illianer tried to run away again, but they were not prepared for the awful scene inside the room when morning came. Saline turned a blind eye to the shredded bedsheets as she enlisted the roommate Badriyah's help in subduing the Illianer and making her don the Novice whites. Forcing Rory -- the most elusive contraption since the horn of valere -- to wear it had been more struggle than her Arches, and it was almost a relief to report to Estel Sedai after that.

 

Horse dung for brains woke up and immediately wished she hadn't, yet the bell kept tolling and she could not sleep on. Thirty years old and being treated as a naughty infant who had just climbed out of the playpen again was not an uncommon occurrance at the White Tower. Augers bore into her, crawling under her skin as the Aes Sedai punctuated the sentences in a cruel tirade she no longer cared to hear. The previous night she had seen the Blue Sister had been a tottering kitten Lillian was propping. But seeing the Blue Sister target her to resolve a bloodhatred was a bit harsh, a little part of Saline wished that Estel Sedai still remained unconscious.

 

Shivering sweet the release beckoned and she led Rory to a very familiar corridor where they had their throw down. She instructed that Rory should start scrubbing the floors as she focus on the various hangings on the wall.

 

Keeping her head to the tapestry and its depiction of boarhunt, she continued to wring the water out with a weave. She had never been much of an artist, besides it reminded her of the rest of the task they were assigned and she was not looking forward to mucking with the hogs. But at least it was not labour in the stables again, had Estel Sedai known of her fear for horses, it would have been the stables for the rest of her natural life. Saline kept drawing out the moisture until a sudden motion caught her attention. She froze, listening. Water spilt from the bucket, laving the floor with its magnificent soapy gurglings. A foam of slippery lemon scent pervaded the squeaky region they wiped down some moments ago. "Rory" she hissed, "what under the Light are you doing?"

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, love, you’ll see. Just watch.” With a wink, Rory gave up any pretence of actually cleaning and instead dispersed the soapy contents of her bucket along the hallway. Making sure to splash a decent amount around as many intersections and doorways as she could. Someone would come along eventually, and when they did? Oh boy. The unwilling novice began to hum a bawdy tune as she worked, feeling sublime.

 

Saline, for her part remained transfixed with horror, apparently not quite sure on how to proceed. Rory took the opportunity to snag her bucket also and then continue dumping slippery liquid with lustful abandon. She was making a hell of a mess, it was true, but it was all for a good cause. Those manipulate scows would rue the day they forced her into service. If she couldn’t beat them, she’d join them, temporarily, so as to be flaming problematic at every turn.

 

“Pick your chin up, love, you haven’t seen the best part yet.” Rory had moved to the other end of the hall, beyond the reach of the soapy suds of slippery . . . solidarity and was calling back down to her would-be mentor slash accomplice in crime and punishment. “Watch!”

 

As calling attention to her actions before she had had her fun would have been counter-productive she resisted the urge to scream “gee haw” and simply began to run. Straight. At. Saline. She was a long distance away and hoped the older woman wouldn’t take her swift pace as a threat of menace or mutiny. When she came near the start of her ‘death trap’ she threw herself forward, landing on her belly with a thud and sliding down the corridor without so much as a glimmer of reduced speed. Her self discipline crumbled and she sounded a loud “wheeeeeeeeeee” as she skimmed along the floor, covering her novice whites with water and firing water about with her hands.

 

OOC: Eleven minute post, Wo de.

IC: Veria strood along the corridors. it was a day of relaxation for her. with planns to visit the city that day she was in a very jolly mood.

 

with a pack on her back and a book in her hand, Veria headed for the gates. As she strood along reading her book as he went, Veria did not notice the comotion or the lemon scent that can out of the adjacent hallway.

 

with no warning at all veria was swept of her feet. falling and landing on something soft and moving, Veria let out a cry of horror. crashing into the wall the ride came to a stop.

 

a little dazed veria sat up and leaned against the wall. it was then that she saw a girl all wet with sudds on her head. it was such a ridiculas sceane that Veria could not help but laugh. standing she helped the younger girl up.

 

With a giggle in her voice Veria address the novice "my dear...what have you been doing. This is no way for a novice to behave. who is your mentor??"

 

Veria

OoC: Unfortunately, it’s a somewhat recycled post because I was too lazy to draft an entirely original one at the moment. Sorry!

 

The day had been an interesting one so far, for Fiera had done much to boost her spirits for what was to come this evening. She had managed to cajole some sniveling little brats to “help” her get some highly undesirable chores completed and spent her rightfully earned spare time running through the list of the tragically stilled that was surgically implanted in her brain. Memorizing it has taken no more than a minute and she was now illustrating the names with a flourish of emphasis here and a subtle solemn decrescendo there to give her words more dramatic effect. After all, delivery was an incredibly important component of swaying another in your favor. Her aim was to impress Jaydena enough that the woman would allow her to proceed through the lesson plans much faster than the rest of those inept Novices; she was surprised the Aes Sedai had not already settled on this the moment she realized Fiera’s undeniable aptitude for all things. And the poor Green had seemed reasonably intelligent, too.

 

Fiera had been in an especially foul mood towards the start of the day, hissing oaths more vitriolic than usual at the obscenely bright, slanting rays of sunlight that filtered upon her pillow as the day broke in its vivid glory. The girl had been up all night trying to snatch up the translucent pool glimmering at the edge of her vision, but, as was the typical result of her efforts, the more she tried to bend it to her will, the more it resisted and slipped lithely through the eager fingers of her mind. She gave up only when her room began to blur and darkness crept across the fuzzy chamber, smothering her with sleep. She had woken feeling uncomfortably bleary and wanting nothing more than to drop her heavy-as a-sack-of-bricks head back onto her pillow and never wake up again. However, that was obviously not a viable option. She later smoothed the wrinkles of her day when she snapped up a pair of newlings and quite forcefully convinced them of the existence of a Novice hierarchy headed only by her, and it would be in their best interest to take heed and follow her every command. Eventually, a kinder soul would clarify their blunder, but for the moment, they were cleaning the chamber pots so she wasn’t all that fussed.

 

After that, things became more bearable and Fiera was able to focus her efforts to retaining every shred of her lessons, something that would of proved rather difficult with the image of unclean chamber pots swimming menacingly in her head. The only thing that had put her off other than unsightly chores was how she had reacted when a passing Aes Sedai had asked tartly that shouldn’t she be on the other side of that door—Fiera had been contemplating whether she was too early for class outside the chamber. Fiera had then jumped and stumbled over her words, flopping into a curtsy before almost falling through the doorway in her haste to put the wooden structure between her and the dark woman. She had been the one who had taken Fiera’s punishment into her own hands, and the woman had a surprisingly good arm! Every time Fiera thought about the incident, her body became suffused with intolerable shame and anger towards the Aes Sedai and herself. This was her, who wanted to dice up trollocs and clash blades with a warder, running scared from another mortal being (albeit they could channel)! What was she turning into, sniveling Carheinin? She would be reaching for the Brown if she continued this irrational display of incredible cowardice. If the fact that her visits to the Mistress of Novices were slowing to an oozing trickle was any indication of that, she might as well attach her head to a history book now!

 

And so, contemplating the true meaning of bravery, Fiera trotted absentmindedly down the pristine hallways of the Tower, waiting for some spectacular force to seize her body and revitalize her mind into the keen razor of justice and valor it once resembled when she sat languidly on a cushion that proclaimed her as the glorious noblewoman the world seemed to want her to be. Unfortunately, nothing occurred. The air refused to sparkle with magical fire and the air in the corridors remained flat in the way air is when it has been circulating in a chamber for longer than one can think to remember. Fiera could not say she was surprised, but there had been a shimmer of hope crouched humbly in the darkest crevice of her mind, praying silently that her admittance to her secretly craven behavior would force her psyche to rearrange and harden into clay that could no longer be molded into hideousness my the clumsy hand of circumstance. What a foolish notion…At least her session with Jaydena had progressed spectacularly; that could be of some solace. Suddenly, Fiera’s feet were struggling in two separate directions and her body was lunging for the ground like a cougar pouncing into calm waters without regard for its sensitive nasal passageways and scrupulously clean fur. The Saldean’s face was caught in a net of absolute and silent horror as it lurched for the incontrovertibly hard floors at an unfortunate velocity. This was not going to be fun.

 

At the very last second, the Novice threw herself onto her side in a last ditch effort to save a face that had been admired by many for too long for her to able to live without it now. The ground rushed up to meet her and crushed the breath from her lungs in glee. The floor felt cold and inexplicably slick beneath her and Fiera found herself struggling to oust air from her lungs in a flurry of miniscule bubbles rather that trying to draw it in and continue to look like a gaping fish flopping around on a merciless deck. Bubbles? What in the light was going on? She groaned, pushing herself of her knees and almost meeting the embrace of the ground once more when her knees refused to stay still on the stickiness of the floor. She pulled a disgusted face when she realized what she was cuddling with: soapy water! This COULD NOT get any worse, oh no no no it couldn’t! Fiera let out a wail of despair and scrambled—literally—to her feet, trying to claw the gooey liquid out of her freshly washed tresses at the same time with an animal fervor. Her cry died on her lips when she realized that there were three pairs of curious eyes staring stupidly at her as if she had sprouted three heads. One of them held a tilt of amusement: the culprit. Fiera lost it. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” She screeched with such ferocity that her body trembled and slid small increments to the left in the sea of merrily bubbling soap. “WHA—how DARE you do this?” she hissed nastily, an inhuman gleam in her acid green eyes that lit up her twisted face like an open furnace in the dead of winter.

 

She staggered towards the impish child, her fingers twitching for the demon’s throat before they had even reached the vicinity of the tender flesh…flesh that yielded so readily to the touch, to the fingers which encircled it with an inexorable rage that could only work itself out. “You will pay! You will flaming pay for this, you goat-kissing trolloc!” Fiera could not believe this. Never in all her years of life had someone had the crude audacity to do something like this to her. If they had even tried, she would be throttling them senseless before they danced with the gibbet that would surely come as reconciliation for what they had to bear at her hands. She was of royal blood; her fathers protected this brainless wench and her undeserving family; her country was chronically seeped in blood and violence to spare the filthy world that that monster child lived in! And this was their payment? Let them be flooded in trollocs and mydraal she thought furiously. When she has simmered in a cookpot and flirted with the eyeless, she’ll be slobbering at my feet for mercy! Mercy that I may withhold. Fiera’s fingers stuck together in a congealed mess; Light only knew what her meticulously pampered hair looked like. No. She had just come back from a sweltering lesson, and this was NOT the first thing she need. The foul cretin would pay.

 

Fiera

To make up for their weak sense of humour, what the Blues need, decided Saline as she reviewed the situation in her room some time later, was a carpet in the hall. From wall to wall it should cover, and perhaps rolling a distance up each, just in case of a flash flood or whatnot.

 

Life had gotten rather exciting for her of late. She pinpointed that moment when events cascaded into her life had been the moment when she first met the Illianer in the Mistress of Novices' study, and as Rory persisted in getting herself into mischief Saline feared that those events might come to a full circle, landing them both with the Mistress of Novices for company again. Only this time they would not emerge lightly.

 

When she signed up to teach she had been instructed to facilitate the other initiates in their transition from the real world to what Saline lovingly dubbed, the White Tower bubble. Was she expecting to have lost all control over her student in this 'bubble' though? No, she replied as she watched Rory first lubricate the floor then shoot water from the friction caused by her hands, more rapidly than a channeller could have drawn water out. No sooner had she recovered enough wits to speak did they scatter again, like the Accepted who slid into view, demanding for Rory's mentor.

 

Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Lifting her skirts high above her knees (it was beginning to be the only position they would be carried) she was careful not to let its hem dip into the slick surface as she opened her mouth again, this time to abase herself in front of her fellow Accepted, whom she knew vaguely by the name of Zeveria, who could be reasoned with. Veria was good natured, and …

 

Saline shut her mouth in alarm as a Novice she knew by face, a sweet face at that, but not name tripped on the floor as well, but her reaction was nowhere near the realm of reason. She made as if to murder Rory, advancing upon the trio.

 

Rory's now very alarmed mentor decided to dispatch the most urgent issue with her emergency powers, the cause of all the fishmongering shrieks. Light, but the girl had a foul mouth fit to triumph the Illianer's glib curses. Almost the Taraboner was tempted to shayol ghul with all of them, that she would simply remove herself from the melodramatic scene that would ensue in Rory and the newcomers fighting it out amongst the lot of them. Rory incites other Novice, and the new Novices strangle each other. Voila, problem solved. Fixing the Novices with a flat stare, she knew her responsibility though her thoughts lingered longingly on the retreat in Ellie's Garden, the private haven she had helped create and take care of. "Be quiet, child. It's just a bit of soap water, which shain't melt you. But I shall, if you keep screaming. The name's Saline, by and by."

 

Perhaps she was being rather uncharitable, but there was much work left to do. Her words carried not so much a threat as a promise, and she did not care how many more floors they would have to scrub after she enforces her rule. The punishment was stretching her patience and almost she wished to be toiling in the Kitchens. At least nobody bothered Mistress Laras about an excess of soapy water.

 

Turning sharply she tried to fix Rory with a stern look, but ended up wiping a length of the floor with her skirt, its rainbow hem skimming absurdly fast. Like Veria, she giggled. It was fun, if a bit naughty.

 

Wait, had she just giggled?

 

OOC: I am rather sorry that the post comes so late, Fiera, Veria, Estel, but most of all, my sweet student.

 

It was melt-in-your-mouth, oh-so-sweet delicious. And yet she did not quite understand why. It was a lot of fun sliding on her belly down the corridor; it was especially fun being caught and directing more difficulty towards her mentor. Saline tried hard, she really did. Yet interacting with her student seemed a difficult thing for her to do. Rory was not about to make things any easier: not on her, nor anyone else living inside the shining walls. Fortune prick the lot of them!

 

She had watched the other novice scramble for purchase like a newborn foal, skirt over forehead, all legs and arms flailing. It was amazing how the entire fall was reduced to the speed of a stumbling crawl, and Rory was fascinated to watch it all unfold in slow-motion. Her eyes were bright with mischief and her grin of cruel delight was almost too genuine, and also very infectious. It was good to see another novice, selflessly lending a hand, and an arm, and a leg and even a bodice to the cause. No one could accuse Rory of not cleaning the floor.

 

She had tried to keep it in, truly. At first her body had shaken with quiet mirth as she covered her mouth with her hand to keep anyone from noticing, but as the Novice advanced upon her—rage in miniature—the effort was too great. She laughed loudly and so hard enough that her ribs ached. It was, on a whole, a rather pretty laugh. There was nothing malicious or boding in its cadence, only a musical chorus of a young woman truly beside herself with humour. It was doubtful that the other novice would agree.

 

Perhaps the inexplicably greatest moment of all was when her mentor interposed herself and stopped the other novice from doing something silly. It would not have been the first scrap Rory had instigated in the tower, and win or lose, she would have been the victor, but there was Saline, forestalling any violent clash.  Rory had such a strange notion, that even though it had been but a moment in time, she had been waiting say … three, four weeks for her mentor to come to the rescue?

 

 

Scamp. The sheer noise Rory was making irritated Saline. Every encounter she had with the girl was embarrassing, and this proved to be no different from the others. There she was, trying to placate a Novice that Rory wronged, and what did the Illianer do but to laugh in their faces? Rory’s Mentor despaired as her student’s laughter rang out, a carefree, merry thing that sounded strange to the halls she avoided for most of her years in the Tower. She failed to see the humour in their current situation, for they were sure to be sent to the Mistress of Novices even if Saline convinced Veria and the Novice she had just threatened to keep quiet.

 

The most irritating part about Rory’s moment of hilarity, however, was the vague impression Saline gathered from it. It told her inexplicably that all was not well with the world. That she had not done right by her student, for now Rory was happy, and it taken the Taraboner several weeks just to see her laugh.

 

Her mind grappled with that for a moment, in which Rory was happy. The fact that she was never available for Rory struck her harder than any fists could. For lessons she had asked her friend Rossa to teach with her, a fat lot of good that did. When she heard that another Accepted, Lillian guided her student through a block that they could not break, she could not shake the feeling of being undermined. It was a bitter taste, though she had done, in sooth, absolutely nothing for Rory while somebody else did.

 

Saline did not interact with Rory voluntarily, and she came to dread the times she had to. Encounters with Rory were always a wrestling of wills; the powers that be told Saline you must control your student, and Saline said unto Rory: do what I say, or I will not teach you. So Rory sought other means of learning, out of necessity. She saw Rory as living evidence of her incompetence, and this did not permit her wounded pride to thank Lillian for succeeding where she did not try. Soon Rory would outstrip her in channeling as well; judging from the terrible weaves Saline had been performing in class nowadays, she would be lucky if she did not fail.

 

It was unfair that Rory would laugh so freely even when punished. Initially, she had not even wanted to be in the Tower, while Saline fought to earn her keep in these Shining Walls. Rory wanted out of the Tower was the same way Saline took every opportunity to get out of their interactions, rather than to permit the Illianer another chance to best her, verbally or physically. As Rory’s laughter grew Saline hardened her face. She was truly irritated, and were it not for consequences she would smack her student. Hard.

 

Is her laughter that irritating? The inner voice queried. Was it not any Mentor’s joy that her student would be happy? Saline was hard pressed to rationalise her own behaviour, other than the fact that Rory challenged her in a way no other Novice dared. It seemed more and more to Rory’s Mentor that the only way for Rory to be happy was if she somehow succeeded in undermining Saline’s authority.

 

No, she knew that it was not a spiteful laugh. She was highly irritated because Rory’s laughter engaged the staggering ugliness inside her. It showed her the truth about her behaviour: Saline would rather retain her own ‘dignity’ than talk to the girl outside of a formal setting, even when she knew how Rory really needed a friend. But Rory could be happy here, and so could Saline. In fact, she had been, in that moment they shared by giggling. And the important thing here was how Rory had given that moment to Saline. She had set an example, and it was up to Saline whether she could learn from Rory’s example.

 

It was only a moment in time, but it showed her how she had been waiting for her student to come around and do what she wanted, without any sympathy for Rory’s predicaments. Suddenly, she realised how miserable Rory was before Lillian and the others. She had deceived herself that Rory was being willful, when she was actually neglected. Neglected by Saline, who would not see Rory outside of lessons, and avoided gracing the room the Illianer dwelt in ever since their first memorable meeting… In her defense she had never met anybody quite as unruly as Rory before and was unsure how to proceed. She thought that perhaps somebody had explained the necessity in learning control to Rory, as the girl had learned how to channel. She wanted Rory to respect her, as otherwise her authority would be suspect, when honestly, Saline had as good a chance – better, even - as any other to begin with. In her heart of hearts, she realised how she never asked Rory’s opinion, for she expected an obedience little drone, a Novice child. No, she treated Rory worse than she had a child. A good parent would not care to control the child, for everything that wanted control would already be in control. A good sister did not cripple her sister for fear that the younger was making her a laughingstock. A good Mentor would not stay away for jealousy that one day her student would surpass her. She was deluded in thinking that her experience with Saidar would be able to control Rory.

 

The truth about their relationship cleared Saline’s mind, freeing her thoughts as she reassessed Rory.

 

Rory had submitted to discipline, had she not, in agreeing to clean the floors. She learned to channel, albeit in her own way. In surrendering, she retained complete independence. For the first time since Rory arrived, she understood her student. All Rory wanted was to enjoy her life, and enjoy it immensely. Resigned to the fact she had to stay, she brought her sunny laughter over to the Tower. That was why Rory would work hard at channeling, help in the Tower infirmary, and answer Saline’s summons to a punishment diligently. She did not act from the intent of spite and harm, but out of a fun-loving deposition, so that all this while Saline had wrong. Was the glass half empty or half full? Oops, that was the wrong glass. Rory wasn’t her nemesis, after all. There was no nemesis to hinder, except in Saline’s own ego enhanced mind. 

 

Well, if havoc would make Rory happy, then Saline would grant her happiness. Far be it from her to let this moment, this chance to pursue happiness slip by. It would be a moment for her to share, in turn. With exaggerated caution Rory’s Mentor said to the other Novice, her expression solemn. “All chore and no play makes the Novices very dull people, yes? Fight then, if you are inclined. I’ll give you both the time it’ll take me to walk from here to the Mistress of Novices’ office and back, without melting anybody.” It was unexpected, but truly it felt good. She wanted to grin at the other Accepted. Who was the scamp now?

 

Though admit-tingly, every Mentor’s duty is to help their students actualise their dreams. A brazen, unbelievable euphoria overtook her, as if the mere thought was an aphrodisiac. She said in her most sincere voice, “I am Rory’s Mentor. How may I help you, Zeveria?” The euphoria probed gingerly at her newfound sense of humour. Yes, success; it was still intact, and she would be wroth to keep her irritation now, fool that she was. It was worth ten visits to Pia Sedai’s study.