May 13th, 1921
The day was warm for being a day in Scotland. There was also the matter of what constituted a warm day in Scotland, since the concept of warm and Scotland were oxymorons. The same could also be said for dry. Sure, the country had its periods where it went a few days or more without rain, but its return came with a vengeance.
Walking into the classroom, Castor and Pollux soared ahead of her, making a beeline for the chalkboard while her bag floated to its place beside the desk. Eris, as always, walked her proudly and unhurried beside her master. The castle had become all too familiar to the half-kneazle, exploring it whenever she got bored, picking out preferred spots to sit or nap.
The desks were there, though pushed back a little way, to make more room for the front. A demonstration of sorts was to be in order, and Etain would serve as such. Taking her mug of hot cocoa—a mug she seemed to take everywhere she went—the woman drank deeply from it and waited for class to begin.
Next update on the 14th.
The day was warm for being a day in Scotland. There was also the matter of what constituted a warm day in Scotland, since the concept of warm and Scotland were oxymorons. The same could also be said for dry. Sure, the country had its periods where it went a few days or more without rain, but its return came with a vengeance.
Walking into the classroom, Castor and Pollux soared ahead of her, making a beeline for the chalkboard while her bag floated to its place beside the desk. Eris, as always, walked her proudly and unhurried beside her master. The castle had become all too familiar to the half-kneazle, exploring it whenever she got bored, picking out preferred spots to sit or nap.
The desks were there, though pushed back a little way, to make more room for the front. A demonstration of sorts was to be in order, and Etain would serve as such. Taking her mug of hot cocoa—a mug she seemed to take everywhere she went—the woman drank deeply from it and waited for class to begin.
Next update on the 14th.
"Our words go beyond the moon. Our words go into the shadows. The river sings the endlessness. We write of our journey through night. We write in our aloneness. We want to know the shape of eternity." ~ The River Sings, Enya







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