Like every other high school, the students of Ravenwood Academy know nothing more beyond the world of their own teenage lives -- a world of classes to pass, social reputations to live up to, and dirty little secrets to keep.
But when strange dangero...
"So," said Sander, "no training today. That's . . . different."
They sat at the kitchen table in momentary silence. Mr. Brighteyes had just announced that training will not push through for today, that he had other plans for this afternoon.
Sitting at the head of the table, Mr. Brighteyes nodded. "I've decided to give you all a short break. Besides, I said we were going to get to know each other. I haven't had much time to talk to you, save small talk, since your training began."
It's been three weeks since the first of their weekend meetings, and every Saturday and Sunday afternoon since then, Damien, Jack, Sander, Max, and Lyn would hike to Mr. Brighteyes's cabin, train under Mr. Bato's strict instruction, freshen up after, and gather around the kitchen table and talk things up with Mr. Brighteyes over tea and snacks. But as Mr. Brighteyes said, time constraint had limited them to mere small talk over these past three weekends, focusing more on training than conversation.
"And I have things to discuss with you," added Mr. Brighteyes, with a smile. "Important things." Then he quickly glanced at each one of them, and added, "Any objections?"
"No," they chorused, causing Mr. Bato, who had been standing next to the stove, to raise an eyebrow at their quick response.
"Very well, then," said Mr. Brighteyes, sliding his chair back and rising to his feet. He walked over to the front door.
"Mister Brighteyes," said Damien, "I thought you said we weren't going to train today."
Mr. Brighteyes picked up an ancient hand lantern that hung on the wall, and pulled the door open. With a smile, he turned to face the five youths standing around the kitchen table, and said, "But I didn't say we would stay indoors."
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Gray clouds filled every inch of the sky, muting the daylight to a pale gloom. Leaves shivered in the wind.
It's been like this since mid-September, Lyn noted as they navigated through the trees, Mr. Brighteyes leading the way, his hand lantern swinging as he moved. She transferred her glance from the sky—trees reaching up to the heavens, obstructing her view of the bleak gray expanse—to Sander in front of her. Damien, Jack, and Mr. Brighteyes were a few paces ahead; Max trailed behind her. Then Lyn wondered, for the third time now, how for the past weekend afternoons it had never rained when they were outside, like the heavens had been holding back their tears until they got to The Raven's Nest or to their respective dormitories.
She brought this observation up last night, after training, during dinner with the boys in The Raven's Nest.
Damien shrugged in response. Then he said, "We're just lucky, I guess." And they all settled on that, and said nothing more about it. Just luck.
"So, Lyn," said Mr. Brighteyes, breaking her train of thought. She didn't see him smile, but she knew he had that grin on his face. "You've been wondering, haven't you?"
