Asha’man Gregary’s assignment had been to read about a single historical event of interest, work in groups of two to five to compile information, then present a report on the subject the next day. The men and women of Owen’s class certainly split into small groups or pairs as they passed the threshold of the Library, but to Owen it appeared they were more intent on finding a place to sit and gossip than locating research material.
“Out of my way, Andarling.” The words were delivered in a deep voice dripping with mockery and accompanied by a rough hand shoving Owen to the side. The Shienaran stumbled against the nearest shelf with a painful crash and his head swung to look at the culprit. He already knew Alec al’Lorna’s stocky form would be the one crowding past him. Emelie Disanne and Fredrik Trina, followed him, however, all three laughing as if at a great joke.
Owen growled an objection after them in a voice too low to actually be heard, his cheeks hot and his hands shaking as he turned to face the shelves. Alec's words didn’t bother him as much as their laughter, but in either case he felt helpless, cast adrift and confused by his fellow students' animosity. They would likely spend the rest of their lives living in the same vicinity and none of them had the option of leaving. What purpose did such behavior serve in that environment, truly?
Twenty minutes later, the boy gave up on research entirely. His mind wouldn’t settle, especially when his classmates found two more opportunities to tease him. After conceding defeat to himself, Owen found his way to the far corner of the uppermost level of the Library. There he knew a set of comfortable chairs usually sat empty, a good place to gather his scattered brain and refocus.
Of course, today a unfamiliar woman in a banded hem occupied one of them, her face buried in a large book. The Shienaran gave the Accepted a cursory bow--better safe than sorry, after all--that she didn’t seem to notice. Then he collapsed into the chair across from her in a tangle of adolescent feet, charcoal-stained, lanky limbs and hair. A book he had grabbed at random lay forgotten against his chest.
And there he sprawled, staring blankly at the ceiling, until he realized the Accepted had lowered her own reading material and was looking at him in silence. “Didn’t mean to disturb you,” he muttered. He pushed his hair out of his face, but did not otherwise move.
“Out of my way, Andarling.” The words were delivered in a deep voice dripping with mockery and accompanied by a rough hand shoving Owen to the side. The Shienaran stumbled against the nearest shelf with a painful crash and his head swung to look at the culprit. He already knew Alec al’Lorna’s stocky form would be the one crowding past him. Emelie Disanne and Fredrik Trina, followed him, however, all three laughing as if at a great joke.
Owen growled an objection after them in a voice too low to actually be heard, his cheeks hot and his hands shaking as he turned to face the shelves. Alec's words didn’t bother him as much as their laughter, but in either case he felt helpless, cast adrift and confused by his fellow students' animosity. They would likely spend the rest of their lives living in the same vicinity and none of them had the option of leaving. What purpose did such behavior serve in that environment, truly?
Twenty minutes later, the boy gave up on research entirely. His mind wouldn’t settle, especially when his classmates found two more opportunities to tease him. After conceding defeat to himself, Owen found his way to the far corner of the uppermost level of the Library. There he knew a set of comfortable chairs usually sat empty, a good place to gather his scattered brain and refocus.
Of course, today a unfamiliar woman in a banded hem occupied one of them, her face buried in a large book. The Shienaran gave the Accepted a cursory bow--better safe than sorry, after all--that she didn’t seem to notice. Then he collapsed into the chair across from her in a tangle of adolescent feet, charcoal-stained, lanky limbs and hair. A book he had grabbed at random lay forgotten against his chest.
And there he sprawled, staring blankly at the ceiling, until he realized the Accepted had lowered her own reading material and was looking at him in silence. “Didn’t mean to disturb you,” he muttered. He pushed his hair out of his face, but did not otherwise move.