What I've learnt at 8

A flurry of feather hits the pavement with a clack. Bernard stops in front of it. He identifies what's resting before his paws as a shuttlecock. In the Heavenly Pavilion, children play these to pass time. A colorful feather is anchored to three thin plastic plates stacked vertically, its total weight no greater than a pebble, when thrown to the sky it sails the wind and descends down an arc. The game starts with a child flinging the featherball so then the second will strike it on landing with his nose, or send it flying with a kick of wing or hind leg for the daring. The child nearest to its next position will strike the ball again before it hits the ground, passing it onto the next, and so on it goes in a circle of merrymakers. Whichever child lets the ball hit the ground loses the game.

Having never participated in the activity before, Bernard remains still.

"Are you not going to pass it to us?"

A kit from school squeals. They're scrawny and dotted with downfeather, a suckling no less than Bernard. They and their friends stare at him in expectant, somehow all of them have appeared out of the ornate shrubs at once.

Bernard replies awkwardly. "I don't play ball."

Someone in the back of the group bursts out a giggle. Bernard fluffs up self-consciously and retreats one step when the first kit steps forward to look at him. "It's okay. We can teach you!"

"Aren't you the smartest kit in class? You'll learn fast!"

"I am. I would.” Bernard replies. He's a quick learner, his teachers and mother said so. But he doesn't want to try something so useless because there are better subjects mother would prefer him take, like archery or chess, because Bernard's going to inherit the family's leadership soon. Well, Bernard will take archery once he learns magic. He tells his new friends just as much. "I can't play with you guys right now because I need to study so I can become clan leader in the future."

Now the group fully erupts in laughter. Bernard's so stunned he can't speak. "Wah- wha's so funny??"

"He wants to be clan leader!"

"Bernard! You are eight. Come join us!"

"I've never heard of an ‘ate’ year old Rausch leader before." One kit cries.

"So... so what?!" Now Bernard's angry and a little snotty. "I'm still clan leader's son! If I'm not head of family now, I will be when I'm grown up! I'll show you all. And don't make fun of my pronunciation!"

"We don't think you'll grow up that fast." The first kit replies through a cackle. When they calm down, mirth is still visible in their eyes. "Come play with us."

"No. Excuse me." Bernard concludes. Then turns his back on the kits who have dissolved into a yapping mess of apologies, jokes, and demands to play the next game. It was all over in just the drop of a hat. The shuttlecock is retrieved out of Bernard's sight when he exits the garden, and no one else trails after him.

Bernard counts this to be the 8th time in winter that he's met with an incompetent group.

The next destination greets Bernard: the Eastern study hall. He's the first to arrive. In this hallroom, both sides are sliding doors, lattice frames that are taped with blinds ingrained in red and white camellia motifs which shine when braced with moonlight and the power beams from the outside on top of candle light from within, but not standing a chance against the strength of a rowdy xynlet, so they are warned not to make a ruckus in this room. The room is as vast as a football field with only a long table in the middle and everything else against the walls so Bernard's tiny legs cost him a few minutes to pad around. He goes through the motions: put his bag at the table, pull his pens out, take out his scroll from the shelf opposite to the table and remember to raise the curtains to let the light in by clamping down on the strings beside them and pull. Yellow light and mountain breeze spill in from the balcony, flooding Bernard's seat. Sitting at the table, Bernard thinks to himself, those xyns were wrong. They hurt his feelings, they were no friends. But Bernard has to do reading now.

Bernard is snout deep in his book when he hears Setheo. "Do you need help getting along with peers?"

"Argh!"

"Did I make you jump? I'm sorry."

Setheo seems at least apologetic. Bernard believes the worry on Setheo's face, so he will forget about this xyn's tendency to show up unannounced for now. However, Bernard isn't keen to chat, so he's stern.

"I'm fine. I'm studying."

"Sure you are," Setheo replies. He's his brother, the same age, too, and despite not growing up under the same wings until now, they both share a milky pelt with honey blonde mane and paws. Setheo has fluffy blue wings, while Bernard has leathery brown ones. Between them there aren't a lot of differences, not even in school performance, but Setheo is much quieter than Bernard is, and it's something he isn't used to.

“Can you be less quiet next time? Creeps me out.”

“I can,” Setheo says.

Bernard watches him out of the corner of his eyes. He wonders if the blue markings on Setheo's pelt will extend and resemble father's one day. Oh, that's right, Setheo dislikes hearing from father. Is it because Setheo doesn't like to be called a son? Bernard chastises himself for his previous thought at this internal reminder, then remembers the book he was reading when Setheo interrupted.

Bernard stops trying to act cool and turns to look at his sibling, who steadily holds his gaze. Setheo's wide, round eyes shine like a marble about to be sent at high speeds towards a fragile tower of secrets.

“You seem so sad studying alone, brother.”

“Who's sad?!”

“..So I came here to find you. I bear good news."

At this, Setheo leans in from Bernard's right side and extends their left wing to hover coyly between them. Bernard's interest takes an uptick and surges over his grump as he in turn leans closer to say, "What is it? Tell me!"

The girl is Céline. Another sibling of his, Bernard learns. She looks like the cream gremmle that his favorite teacher gifted to a kit under his year. She doesn't bat an eyelash against his scrutinizing stare and shoots up to meet Bernard face to face with the force of her squeaky words.

"I have claws and I'm not afraid to use them against anyone who thinks badly of me!"

After this, Céline fluffs up her chest and raises her pointy wings for good measure.

"Woah!" Bernard takes a leap backwards. He sees Setheo smile as he regains composure when the girl's mother plunges a paw onto her head.

"Ow!" Céline cries, deflating instantly.

"Lady! How are you behaving around your own brothers? They're our family!" Her mother spits, but her tail rounds Céline when she raises her head to address father and mother. "Thank you for accepting us."

And that's how Bernard's frostfall schedule got upended for an extraordinary circumstance: to guide the newest arrival into his and Setheo's ranks.

...

The girl befuddles Bernard.

"This is no use." Bernard says outloud. He's been tutoring Céline all day long on basic sequencing and even switching between the alphabet and tales of Yanwei for a change of pace but Céline doesn't seem to have inherited any of that knowledge. Instead, for days on end: The child would be fixated on what's happening outside the balcony, and Bernard would wish many times to shut that curtain in her face but he couldn't because of the rules and he couldn't exactly wrestle her down her seat for the same reason, or for the fact that despite their age they're the same size. He doesn't remember tutoring Setheo from last year to be anywhere near this difficult. Is Céline just born this way? And speaking of the devil, Céline is barking back.

"Fighting is way cooler than studying! I want to do what they do."

"Fighting is studying, and it's called training, you idiot." Bernard grunts. He's surprised at his own spew of vulgarity, but Bernard deems Céline troubling enough to fit in with the tricksters from his class. “Training is reserved for magic users. You're far behind them. You can't even spell ‘magic.’”

“How long does it take until I can do that?” Céline pouts. “I want to fight.”

“It takes like seconds to spell a word. I don't know for your kind, but I know for as long as you refuse to study you'll be left behind. Become a knight in your dreams.”

Bernard spits with as much grievance as he can muster. He wants out with this babysitting session. It was a bad idea that he volunteered for this alone when he imagined a different result- what's a future leader of the clan who can't even lecture a kit?

“Don't call me that,” Céline whines, still illiterate and all whiny.

“But I can call you anything if you remain this stupid. Uneducated!”

“Why ARE you so mean to me? Did your mother raise you like this? No wonder you don't have any friends, Bernard.”

Céline yells. Bernard is infuriated. Céline has dropped his name after calling him “brother”, and she dares to call him more names! The indecency of this brat, it-

It hurts Bernard. He slams his paws on the same table he and Setheo once passed gossip over, and scares Céline into a defensive stance. Setheo's not here to see this, so he raises his voice.

“I’m done teaching you. Go play with the bigger xyns if you want, and see if they'll harm you! I bet they'll hit you or something for standing between their paws! See if you like getting kicked. GO!”

It's with little surprise that that sends Céline running with her tail between her legs, crying. Bernard triumphs but his anger doesn't subside. He sits down to brush his fur flat and begins to groom when he hears a pitter patter of steps close by.

Bernard knows who that is so he doesn't have to turn around. He simply says, “You're louder this time.”

“Of course I am.” Setheo beams. “I'm doing this for you. Also, what happened?”

Did Setheo see Céline? Did Céline talk to them? Maybe they don't need to know the full story yet. Uncertainty washes over Bernard all of a sudden and he’s unaware of what he says next. “What do you mean?”

“It was noisy earlier. Just before I arrived I saw Céline in the hallway in tears. Did something go down? You can tell me.”

Setheo inquires with full concern and none of the accusations. At this, shame engulfs Bernard, and he can only look to the side. Bernard trusts Setheo to know the answer already so he doesn't have to say it outloud. Setheo is smart like that. Setheo has also been with Bernard for maybe years.

They prove to be understanding and catch up so quickly that Bernard is surprised with relief.

“I get it. Bad habits? Céline is much younger than us, after all. It's natural that she couldn't take it.” Setheo says it like it's the law of Lunerest, a sermon recited in class, as if Setheo is any older and wiser than him. Listening to Setheo soothes Bernard. "She can't study under you.”

“No she can't! She's a big dummy who only wants to play.”

“That's only the Céline you see when you teach her, not the full Céline,” Setheo corrects him. “Why don't you accept help from other tutors? You don’t have to handle her on your own.”

“I…”

Bernard finds himself dry of retort. He realizes, in succession, that he doesn't want to argue against Setheo who sees through him completely, and that he's always brought to a place of revelation by this peculiar sibling. In speechlessness, Bernard sees his reluctance for what it truly is: The moment Bernard rose to the challenge and said he'd be the only one to guide Céline, the new arrival, it was not for mother's approval, nor their absent father's recognition.

No, Bernard remembers feeling insecure, and reactive against it; Afraid that this was his only chance of making another friend when most xyns his age clashed with him so, and afraid that he would fail to duplicate Setheo in Céline. Bernard wanted to train Céline by himself so that he could make his next friend out of her.

Setheo is the only real friend he has.

Bernard feels dizzy with this newfound clarity. He's stumbling out of the Eastern hallroom before he knows it, breaking his routine and the classroom rules in his haste. Leaving Setheo behind.

Bernard continues running through the garden but because he's never taken a detour for any offbeat reason before, he doesn't know the shortcuts to evade adult eyes, and sure enough, Bernard bumps into a concerned hall assistant before he can finish his escape. Through a daze of anger and shame, Bernard can only remember some obscene things flowing from his mouth and Setheo coming to save him.

…

Alone in bed, watching the ceiling, Bernard trades sleep for the all enigmatic world of speculation. He has his own room, unlike any of the other of his siblings. Including Setheo, all his siblings sleep in a communal bedroom large enough to accommodate a dozen of them at once. Bernard can't remember ever attempting to mix with them until Setheo convinced him to, and after that only a few of them would turn to say hi when seeing Bernard in the compound. Bernard has always abided by his own rules, his mother's rules, sometimes teachers’ rules when they're smarts, and in any way it meant that Bernard would reject fellow xyns if they opposed what he believed. He thought them stupid and unknowing. But Bernard has no one to defend his back when he's caught in something, or to pull him to play. No one but Setheo, his closest kin, who understands him the most.

Why does only Setheo understand him?

The sound of a shuttlecock clicking against concrete echoes in the empty of his room.

No wonder he doesn't have any friends. Bernard can't answer. He doesn't know why every other xyn hates him so.

Bernard takes a deep exhale the way the older ones would do when something has greatly disappointed them. Earlier in the day, his venture with Céline had arrived to adult ears, and he was pulled into a vacant room for a lecture from the disciplinary council. They demanded to hear what he had learnt from the ordeal.

At the time, Bernard couldn't answer straight. He said something totally moronic like “I learnt Céline was a loser” and almost got a letter of detention until mother and Setheo intervened. In reality, Bernard had learnt nothing. But now, his tiny heart's pumping with a wish.

Bernard wants to learn how to make new friends.