Go Here. In the Dark [to finish the The Dark Bishop Drabble]
Niamh returns to the underground during a stormy night. As she descends beneath the surface, she can hear the faint sound of raindrops above. It lasts for a few minutes, gradually becoming more and more faint until - quiet. It's alarmingly quiet.
Many had gone to bed by now. It was not unfamiliar to hear the murmur of late night conversation, but even tonight's chatter was sparse. She had returned very, very late.
(She'll be thankful that tomorrow's classes don't require up too early.)
Her room is a different kind of messy. At one time, she had given shelter to someone in a time of need. Now, it feels strange not to assume that this is her home, too. Various items and trinkets are scattered about her room - mementos of what they've found when they went exploring. They had learned so much through what they found. About this world, about it's people-
And it reminds her about this underground. The underground, and secrets that it, too, holds.
Niamh's explored the library before, typically on her own. Found books that dare to question things that the teachers above ground do not. Forgotten pasts written in tales that question fact and fiction. Ideologies and ways of life that contradict the teachings that the church has passed down.
These scriptures are here because their truths would upset the world above. Their words would bring chaos by those who know how to harness their knowledge. And if fallen into the wrong hands, might even reshape the world into something else entirely.
But she does not fear what she'll find, nor those who oppose her for sticking her nose in these texts.
So tonight, she reads and reads, and commits these hard truths to memory. She applies what she learns to her recent tests, ones regarding the flora that she's brought back after today's exploration.
And some books, the tomes that list magic both tricky and bizarre? As she finds them among the library's collection, she places them aside, noting them for future use. In the following nights, she returns and pages through them, growing to understand them and their oddities. Niamh embraces both the feats they can perform, and the risks that come when using them.
They become the tools that she works with in future explorations, to be applied and used for the experiments that she keeps behind closed doors.
It's said that knowledge like this is dangerous. That curiosity can kill, and that not all power is worth the cost. This is true in all sorts of places - in all sorts of magic, those that have been passed down through hushed lips and secret code. But where she's from, and where she seeks next. In order to survive, in order to live, she cannot rely solely on what's safe to learn.
She needs to absorb the knowledge of this world,
and master the power this knowledge brings,
before she is swallowed by a truth so indescribable, entire worlds can no longer tell the tale for them themself.
In order to try to find out just what makes a teacher ally, I interviewed with my friends and asked them about a teacher that made a positive impact on their life. I wanted to know who it was, why they chose them, and what their lasting impression was. They all provided one example, and definitely helped me to get closer to a definition of what it means to be a teacher ally.
The first person I talked to was Michelle, one of my best friends, and she talked about Andrew Goreham, a social studies teacher from Northglenn High School. She said that she experienced serious health concerns in high school, specifically in her senior year, and having a teacher like Goreham who was very supportive and accommodated in a multitude of ways, definitely insured her graduation. While she was talking, her eyes lit up, and she laughed throughout - remembering running stories and tidbits he would share with the class.
The second person I talked to was Michelle’s partner, Shea. Shea talked about a middle school English teacher, Mr. Figurin. They said that Figurin loved English so much that he made learning it fun: integrating songs and rhymes. More than that, he let them eat lunch in his room everyday. They said that they were a very depressed and lonely student, so to have a teacher that allowed for them to seek refuge in his room, helped them get through high school. I found the same thing to be true when watching them talk - their eyes lit up. But in this case they also teared up. When I asked them why, they said that they didn’t know how they would’ve made it through high school without Mr. Figurin. I think that speaks volumes. The way that this teacher reached out to a student in need, in such a simple way, made such a huge impact.
The last person I talked to was Christian. They told me all about an English teacher they had, Mrs. Moncada. They said she wasn’t a teacher they enjoyed while they had her, but once they didn’t have her anymore they realized just how big of an impact she made on them. When watching them talk, I saw both Michelle and Shea’s reactions in them. They laughed and they teared up. But all across the board, the look in their eyes said more about the teacher than any words ever could.
What I learned about being a teacher ally from this, is that it can look a multitude of ways. It could be giving a student going through a hard time health wise some slack and giving them appropriate accommodations. It could be inviting a student to eat lunch with you. It could be buying the spiral notebooks that students need for the class and giving them to students who can’t afford it.
No matter how it looks - teachers are important, and the impact that they leave on a student could last a lifetime. And not only because they teach.
This fox made nothing but trouble...
I sighed, poking the rabbit without much appetite.
... maybe sometimes a little less trouble. At least he brought rabbits.
Honestly, a scary amount of rabbits... we were rarely without meat.
The question where they came from wasn't that important when I had meat on the table every single day, though.
But it justified the lack of appetite. A little.
... the fluffy fur was not too bad, either.
He was very soft and warm. And the weird rumbling he did - a little like a cat - helped once a month.
And Matia really liked him, almost as much as the raccoon that also had taken refuge.
...
Maybe the wild animal basically living under their roof was not that bad.
But it apparently had a friend.
And this friend seemed less... civilised?
It wasn't great.
Besides: Too many pets can't be good.
Speaking of the devil.
Our resident grey fox had come inside, sat down at the door, tail wrapped around him, and stared at me.
And I knew it would stay like this.
Because Matia had a hungry raccoon on her lap, giggling while she fed it vegetables, so she would not distract the fox, and I was done eating, so...
It sat there... and stared.
When I stared back, the tail started wagging.
He re-wrapped his tail when I looked back at my food.
This repeated itself.
...
It was a little unsettling.
"What do you want, fluffles...?"
"Oh?," Matia looked over, waving, "Hiiiiii Mazin!"
But that was that, little Coony was more interesting.
And the fox continued to stare.
I huffed. And after maybe five more minutes of this, I threw my hands up: "Fine! ... what do you want, you... wonderful animal?!"
At that, he got up and turned in the direction of the door.
And that... once again made me feel a little weird, but hey, foxes are supposed to be smart animals, right?
It was probably normal.
With a sigh, I stood up: "Don't overfeed the little guy, okay?"
"Okay, Mummy!," she said, petting the raccoon.
And I... followed the fox into the backyard.
He walked a little bit in the forest... and then sat down on a tree stump, tail wrapped again.
And he looked down on the floor.
When I followed the line of sight... there was a red, small-ish fox on the ground. Sleeping.
I stood and stared: "... do you want me to... bring it back home?"
Which happened to result in tailwagging.
"It's probably full of fleas," he huffed.
Aaaand he looked at me with pleading eyes.
"... well fine. But you better behave the next weeks"
I grabbed the - actually kind of dirty - fox at his scruff and held him. It seemed to be tuckered out.
"You know you're going to have to give up your bed then"
Because he's going to sleep... mostly in mine, darn it.
I sighed. And followed my original fox back home.
What a life.
Ugh.
His parents did not give him a single musical bone in his body.
He's basically tone-deaf.
It's something everyone around him is... embarrassingly aware of.
Singing is his way to patrol through the woods: Loud and cheerful and completely out of tune. Everyone will keep away from him, even creatures.
He is very well aware of the fact. People had ample opportunity to point it out and did so as well. It's almost an achievement when people in a tavern crawl tell you that you are too tone deaf to do this properly.
It did not keep him from doing it anyway.
When he earned a terrible, terrible scowl from Nasira, he made an apologetic face and tried to tune it down. And he did. For a while.
Yet, no one could control him when he was alone. Or... with unsuspecting, innocent children's ears.
Like any parent – like his own parents had, too - he sang his grandchildren to sleep. With deep, steady songs. Depending on rhythm more than the melody. Which was probably for the best. As a fighter, he needed to be good at that.
The little ones slept well, too. They liked it. Fell asleep to it and the soft rocking of their cribs.
It was the only sound that could make them sleep. Their 'dad' singing.
So, when Nasira was there and wanted to bring them to bed herself? Well, she was a decent singer: Ailward loves to listen to her sing. It always made him smile, no matter the song.
The problem was: The little ones continued crying. Ailward had told her to 'sing whatever, it works', but... nothing. She had to wait until he came back from the hunt. And sang them to sleep himself.
Nasira could not actually fault him for it, but her children had probably the most awful sense of music in the whole land. It was time to do something about it. A Gerudo unable to sing at least war-songs was unheard of.
So... it became a tradition to sing. Every day. Ailward was not allowed to join. He could beat the drums, he was good with that. He was allowed to listen.
The children thought it sounded all weird and strange at first (they had said so in school as well, whenever there had been music lessons), but they did as they were told.
The older kids surpassed their 'dads' ability within a week. He was not jealous, it plastered a constant smile on his face. He loved to hear them sing. All the time.
And they did. Because that's how he taught them to keep animals away. As they were old enough not to do it... it was a habit. Instead of just walking like a normal person, they sneaked through the forests while singing.
In the end, the youngest child was the best singer, since they learned from everyone else... but all of them still slept better when Ailward sang to them. As horrible as it sounded.
