Frostwing Academy | ONC 2024

8 - First Lesson

Wingmaster Thorrin lands atop the platform in a rush of wind. Seeing the gryphon outside does nothing to diminish his size. He towers over the children and their partners like the great predator he is, noble and savage all wrapped up in one. A small, stocky woman slides off his back and strips off her gloves, tucking them into a back pocket.

"Good morning, students," she says.

"Good morning," humans and gryphons alike chorus. It's rather quaint, like how schoolrooms are described in dime-store novels.

The woman peers over their heads and spies Pol and I in the back. "I see that our new students have arrived. Please, come forward and introduce yourselves."

Might as well rip the bandage off and get this over with, I think. Lifting my chin, I walk up to the platform and stand next to the instructor. She's a few inches shorter than me, plain of countenance with dark green eyes like smoky emeralds, a slightly crooked nose, and an oval face. Her grey-streaked brown hair is caught up in a high horse's tail; a few strands hang over the front of her ears, fluttering in the breeze. There are a few lines at the corners of her eyes, but otherwise, her tanned skin is clear.

"Go on," she says, gesturing towards the students.

I have been making introductions since I was younger than these children, but never in such a crude environment. "Herleva Montrose." I start to curtsey, then remember I am neither in a ballroom nor am I wearing skirts. I cannot be expected to shake all their hands, then?

Silence reigns on the training grounds. I watch as a girl with short, dirty blonde hair scratches her nose, and then picks at her nails. A dark brown and red gryphon yawns, blinking pale-yellow eyes.

"Tell them more about yourself," the professor prompts.

That is the last thing I wish to do. "There is not much to tell," I reply shortly.

The professor looks up at me, thin eyebrows knitting together. I prepare to deflect, but she shrugs. "Very well." She turns to Pol. The red gryphon stands at the edge of the platform, looking everywhere but at the students and their partners. "Now, how about you?"

"Pol Ronninsson," he mutters, studying the boards of the platform.

The professor exchanges a look with Thorrin. "I'd say they're well-matched," she tells the big male.

Thorrin grunts, wingtips fluttering against his sides. "Well, with that out of the way, class, I want you to follow me. Herleva and Pol will remain here with Professor de Beaumont."

Chatter once again rises from the students and gryphons as they get to their feet. The Wingmaster steps off the platform and begins walking towards a series of poles with platforms nailed atop them.

Professor de Beaumont watches them go, then turns to us. "We have a lot to catch up on," she says, crossing the platform to where a large box sits. "I've never had a pair start so late, but hopefully we can get you up to speed with your age-mates." She flips open the lid of the box and begins pulling out items that look vaguely like tack for horses. There's a saddle, a breastband, and a pair of eye protectors. "Come here, both of you."

I move closer to the professor and stare at the tooled leather objects. Pol's claws click on the scarred wooden platform, but he hangs back, tail tip flicking against his hindlegs.

Professor de Beaumont looks up. "Are you two allergic to each other? Get over here."

Pol sighs begrudgingly and closes the gap between us. He sits down, ear tufts angled sideways.

"This equipment is just as important as your bond," the professor begins, bending down to pick up the saddle. "Now, this isn't your official gear—I'll be taking measurements to send to the tack maker—but it'll do for now. Herleva, you'll be responsible for its maintenance. If it's torn, you sew it; if it's broken, you find a way to fix it. If it's damaged beyond repair, a charge will be added to your school debt for its replacement." Professor de Beaumont taps the rounded and padded saddle horn. "Proper maintenance of this gear is key to your survival." She fixes Pol and I with those smokey emerald eyes. "I don't think I have to stress how important that is to you, do I?"