[Back to School]

The village had begun its slow turn from summer back into autumn studies. Wagons rattled down the lane towards Castle Lothain’s road, loaded with grain, produce and today, satchels that swung from the small backs of Crederians. On tables and porch rails, uniforms waited pressed and neatly pinned, or aggressively personalized with studs and ribbon and slogans that had to be discreetly trimmed to satisfy academy rules. The season-changing quills that came with the kingdom’s own academies flashed their new tint, turning from the pale wheat of late summer to the first wisps of harvest orange.

Fleur watched it all through the window of their flower shop, paws steady while wrapping flowers with twine. The bell over the door chimed whenever someone wanted a last-minute boutonniere for their babling’s first day, or a bag of calming tea because a little one’s stomach had made itself into a ball of nervous knots. They had tied two dozen bouquets since dawn but it was the kind of work that suited them. Friendly to each face that appeared through their doorway.

They had also been quietly fretting for six mornings straight. The acceptance packages had arrived two weeks ago from Lothain, brown paper bundles stamped with academy seals and smelling faintly of wax and ink. There had been a congratulatory letter and Finn had danced with it clenched in one paw. Followed by the uniform parcel, the first-year syllabus, and a list that made Fleur sit down before they read it.

Required supplies:

• Primer of Safe Magiks for Beginners
• Foundational Cantrips
• Figures & Forms: Sigils for Beginners
• The Ley-Lines of Lothain
• Flora for Practitioners, Volume I (with pictures)
• Tools: a season-quill (issued), a slate and a pack of chalk, three beeswax candles, a spool of red twine, one brass bell small enough to fit in one paw, gloves for heat-work, a robe clasp (issued), a focus charm, a journal and a lunch tin.
• Uniform: robed coat in academy colors, soft trousers, shirt and a thick sweater if weather requires.
• A Gold Star Button for first-year.

Fleur, who took pride in lists and read this one three times to be sure.

The star button lay on a square of folded muslin on the counter: a small, star-pressed circle of burnished gold with a tiny hole for the thread that glimmered when the light struck it. It had come in its own envelope with the other packages.

“Finn,” Fleur called, not looking up because they could hear him long before he reached the shop. He thundered rather than walked,  his eager paws always forgetting the concept of quiet during excitement. “Backpack check.”

The door banged open. Finn spilled in with the kind of hairdo that looked like it had argued with a brush and won. As a babling, he was smaller than Fleur but louder, moodier and with a streak that Finn stubbornly insisted was called “punk”. He had shaved a lightning bolt into one eyebrow last month, then regretted it, then decided it made him look tough. Today, his horns were wrapped in thin, indigo ribbon he’d begged for from one of the stalls, and his uniform, the robed coat, had been personalized to the extent allowed by a careful reading of the rules and a pleading look at the seamstress from Finn.

The robe was midnight blue with a dusky lilac lining. He had stitched a narrow chain along the inside hem, added a tiny safety pin in the sleeve seam and had gotten the trousers hemmed properly because Fleur had insisted on that part. The robed coat’s collar waited for its proper clasp. Over it all he wore a backpack that was personalized with studs along the flap, a patch that declared PUNK AT HEART in red thread, and a spray of paint that might have once been a star that looked more like a blurred splotch now. All in all, it was very Finn.

“I checked everything,” Finn announced, placing the backpack onto the counter. “And then I checked it again. Pink says we’ll be checking supplies too. I mean Pink probably says that to everyone but anyway, I wanna have everything ready the fastest.”

Fleur smoothed the coat with a paw. “It’s not a race Finn. And Pink will have enough to do, sorting twenty first-years into a room and making sure no one sets their own sleeve on fire.”

“It’s just a little fire,” Finn said at once, almost too quickly, causing Fleur to raise a brow. “You know, low-level. Controlled. Pink says we can learn to light a candle by autumn if we’re careful.”

“If Pink says it, Pink has tested it,” Fleur returned. “Show me the candles.”

Finn unbuckled the flap, rummaged, and produced a linen pouch, then held them up triumphantly. Fleur nodded. “Journal?”

“Right here.” He pulled a little book from another pocket. Finn had drawn a skull with daisies for eyes on the cover and then, at Fleur’s look, added a line in the cover: If found, please return to Finnegan.

“Chalk,” Fleur prompted, “twine, bell, gloves, candles, the charm to help you focus?” They watched him pull each item and checked them off the list. A stick of chalk wrapped in waxed paper, a spool of red twine, a small brass bell, three beeswax candles nestled side by side in an oiled wrap, a pair of heat-gloves that Fleur had bartered for with a bouquet of starwort and a jar of honeyed almonds. “Excellent. Texts?”

Finn hefted a stack that would have made a Bowroo shepherd sway. Primer of Safe Magiks for Beginners had a bright cover with diagrams, Foundational Cantrips looked more like a manual, its spine already creased from Finn’s bedtime reading, the Sigils book had thick pages and smelled faintly of charcoal, the slim volume on the Ley-Lines of Lothain was the kind Fleur liked, all maps and precise language; and Flora for Practitioners was so well-illustrated even an apprentice could tell columbine from monkshood. “It’s heavy,” Finn said, not complaining so much as marveling.

“The workload will be, too,” Fleur said, soft but certain. “Cantrips three days a week. Sigils twice. Flora twice, a bit of Safe Magiks every day and Magik History in the mornings.” They had memorized the schedule long before Finn had.

Finn grinned, excitement flashing through him. “Pink says you can hear your own echo when you stand in the Resonance Hall. They said the walls make it so your quiet is, you know, loud. I wanna be loud and play punk there!”

“You will be yourself and I’m sure others will flock to you,” Fleur said, and let that stand.

The bell chimed. A Leloko slipped in, tail flowers bright with late-summer bloom. She bought a small posy of rosemary and left behind a wrapped parcel of sun-cakes with almonds. Out beyond the window, a pair of wingletts scampered past in matching academic uniforms and a trio of older students from Veldoa’s Knight Academy clanged down the road in quilted leathers that had been carefully oiled against the season. A lanky musician sauntered by in the colors of the Lere Conservatory with a flute case and a smile. Summer had let go and the world had begun to return to its measured lessons and classrooms.

“Pink wrote,” Finn said, rummaging again and produced a letter. The envelope was creased and Fleur took it, already knowing every line.

Dear Finnegan, it read in a quick, tidy hand, Welcome to the Magical Division. We begin with safety and sensibility and move quickly toward fun, because a safe practitioner can have more fun than an injured one. Please bring your candles, twine, bell, and a single leaf from a plant you like. No, it does not have to be magical. Yes, it matters that you like it. Wear your button so we know to help you first when things are confusing.

• Pink, Instructor, First-Year Foundations.

Fleur looked toward the worktable where a jar of unsold stems sat in water, waiting to be turned into something new. “Choose one. Pick with your heart, not your head.”

Finn padded over and peered into the jar. Ranunculus, violas, a sprig of mint and a strand of wheat. His paw hovered over each. Then, unexpectedly, he reached past the fancy ones and plucked a leaf from a stem of yarrow that lay next to the jar. Common. Useful. Versatile.

“This one,” he said, with a surety that didn’t often accompany his rapid moods. “It makes me think of you.” Fleur smiled softly.

They wrapped Finn’s leaf in a scrap of wax paper and tucked it into the journal’s back cover. Then, finally, they lifted the Gold Button and began to thread through the hole with three neat stitches, the knot hidden under the coat’s lining. The gold star settled onto Finn’s collar, right above his heart.

Finn looked down and then up, suddenly uncertain. “Do I look like I belong?” he asked nervously.

“You look like yourself.” Fleur’s voice was level. “And the place you are going is made for all kinds of people. We checked the list thoroughly. We bought everything we needed. We will return things we bought twice.” They smoothed his collar, then the ribbon on his horn. “You look ready.”

Finn tilted his head. “You’re gonna be alright without me bossing you around in the afternoons?”

“I do not recall you bossing me around,” Fleur replied dryly, which made him laugh. “Windan will come later to pick up the garland for the barn’s new beam. I will remember to eat and I will remember to sit down while I do it. I may even enjoy silence for ten minutes.”

Finn rocked on his heels, agitated happiness sparking off him like static. He reached across the counter and squeezed Fleur’s paw in a quick, fierce press. “Okay. But if you forget the eating part, I’ll tell Pink, and Pink will assign you homework about lunch.”

Fleur managed to produce a look of solemn dread that fooled nobody. “Then we must not let it come to that,” they said. “Now.” They drew a breath that smoothed their anxieties away. “Final check.”

“Final check,” Finn echoed, and they did it again.

“Now,” Fleur said after they were done. “Go wash your paws. You have chalk on your face.”

He saluted and dashed to the back. Fleur watched him go with the kind of ache that pressed gently against his ribs, a reminder that Finn was growing up and eventually wouldn’t need them anymore. They counted the coin purse they’d tucked in his bag for lunch and emergencies and glanced at the schedule beside the register.

The village outside had swelled with people. Lelokos with their flowered tails bounded down the road toward Lere where the fairgrounds would fill with stalls by noon, Bowroo shepherds steered carts and Poffee bakers held trays of sugar dusted buns. Patalum sent its children and its goods toward the castle town with the same proud practicality with which it sent produce.

Finn reappeared with damp paws and a grin. “Pink will like me,” he declared, not arrogantly, but resolved.

“Pink is experienced in liking many kinds of students,” Fleur replied, placing a paw on his shoulder as they stepped into the sun. “But we study to be who we are meant to be.”

“I like you better when you don’t sound like a book,” Finn teased, but his eyes were soft when he looked across the road at the waiting wagons.

The morning caravan gathered at the edge of the square. A line of sturdy carts and a canal barge that would take those bound for the lower quarter. The barge’s pennant fluttered with a hundred small cloth squares; family colors, store logos and the kingdom’s own colors. The kingdoms’ academies had sent representatives to check uniforms and answer last-minute questions. An instructor from Veldoa stood in quilted protection, their armor patched with last year’s scuffs. A Musical Division prefect tuned a harp and nodded to each first-year who walked past, reminding those with string instruments to keep their pegs loose in the humidity. A clerk from the Academic School wore a jacket and had a quill tucked in their hatband that gleamed harvest-orange for the fall.

And there near the barge stood Pink, impossible to mistake even among the bustle of robed students and instructors. Their own coat was marked by a rose trim that echoed the vivid hues of their fur, while a mane of unruly crimson spilled around big, tufted ears lined in pale blue. A spiraled horn, striped in the cool tones of frost gleamed brightly above their sharp, golden eyes. Their long, striped tail curled and flicked with restless energy, making them seem both approachable and alert all at once.

When they spotted Fleur and Finn, Pink’s face broke into an easy, knowing smile as they lifted a paw in greeting. Finn, unable to contain himself, waved both arms at once.

“You see?” Fleur murmured. “You belong just fine.”

A cluster of older students passed, their robed coats edged with embroidery so skilled it made the cloth look as if it were made of magic. “Year three,” Finn whispered, awed. “Look at their hems.”

“If you pass foundations,” Fleur said softly, “you may hem something of your own.” Then, because they had learned to make space for Finn’s own kind of joy, they added, “And it can include lightning bolts.”

Finn tipped his head, surprised and delighted. His mood was bright and then like the weather, he turned serious. “You’ll send me a message if I forget something?”

“I will send messages whether you forget or not,” Fleur said. “But we did not forget. We went to Lothain with a plan and came back with what we needed. We have everything.”

Finn’s eyes shone. He rubbed his knuckles against the button as if to press it into his heart in nervous glee. “Okay… Okay.”

Students boarded. Bablings and wingletts scampered up and were sorted by a prefect by grade and class. A pair of Primas took seats near the flute player and two Bowroo children settled, but were shaking in their excitement.

Pink beckoned and Finn’s tail twitched. He took one step, then swung back and hugged Fleur so hard their bones creaked. “Thanks for double-checking,” he said into their shoulder, his voice soft. “And for the leaf. And for letting me keep the studs and not making me change the chain.”

“I made you hem the trousers,” Fleur observed.

“Yeah,” Finn admitted in a laugh. “You did.”

He let go and stood back. He had gold at his throat and books in his bag and the kind of readiness you only feel when you know you have everything, but hesitated to leave Fleur. Fleur reached up and tugged the ribbon on his horn so it sat just right and smiled. “Go learn,” they said simply. It was not an order, it was a blessing.

Finn ran. Pink caught him with a paw on the shoulder, steadied his speed to walking pace and said something that made him laugh to ease the tension from the babling, then sent him up the gangplank.

Fleur stood on the dock and lifted a paw once in farewell. Finn turned, caught it, mirrored it, then pointed to his button with pride as the barge pushed off.

The shop would need to be opened again in ten minutes. A Bowroo shepherd would want rosemary for a stew. Windan would collect his garland and ask without asking whether Fleur had eaten.

Fleur took the long way back through the square. They walked past the stand where pumpkin soup simmered, steam rising. They paused and bought a cupful because they thought they should follow their own good advice. The soup tasted of nutmeg and spice. They stood there for a moment with the cup between their paws, letting the soup’s warmth warm them in the autumn chill. They imagined Finn in Pink’s classroom, setting three candles in a circle, listening to his own voice echo in Resonance Hall, writing a neat label under the yarrow leaf: Chosen because it reminds me of Fleur.

Fleur set the empty cup back on the vendor’s table with thanks and turned towards their shop. They would sort stems for the midday rush and they would dust the shelf with the pressed flowers. At the counter inside, they paused. The button envelope lay where it had before. Empty now, its shape still holding the memory of what it once held. Fleur slipped it into the drawer where they kept seed packets and put their paws to work.

Downriver, the barge turned slowly. Finn stood at the rail with his backpack’s studs gleaming and his collar bright with a small gold star button. The kingdom’s summer break had ended. School had begun. One babling who liked thunder and punk went to meet his teacher, while another mantibab returned to a counter and sold flowers and herbs.

At noon, after three bouquets and a consultation about whether chrysanthemums were appropriate for an aunt going back to studies at her age, Fleur smiled, adjusted a display of violets, and waited for the bell to ring again.