The art of being wrong

The starlit sky made her think of a piece of parchment, too tired to take another attempt at a difficult equation. The lines connecting the constellations were tangled in a mass, much like a wild child's hair. A child. Does a child know that their hair becomes tangled if they run through the forest, careless? Is it right to tell a child off for having tangled hair even if the child had no right to know? What would the child do? Obviously, go back to the forest, where the careless moments could be relived and repeated, with no fear of criticism or judgement.

Saegwyth outstretched her legs, instead of having them bent at knees. With her arms under her neck, she was in a comfortable position to continue her musings. It was still warm, if not hot. The flame, caused by a spark lingered on the skin, making her shiver. She was calm or so the small choir of breaths preached. She felt the soothing sand underneath, despite the soft texture of the blanket. The waves danced, humming a repetitive melody, lulling her to sleep despite the invading thoughts.

Where she stepped, flowers appeared. The sweet taste of grapes invaded her mouth, quenching thirst. The picnic blanket was in place, left open. So was the book. The book had answers, it was very long and thick. Complicated. A challenge left there, so tempting to return to it. Passivity. In all this, despite the decorations...it was passive. She was judged. For the first time? It sure felt like a step, not like completion.

She was not a number any more, she was an elf, once again. Restored to her rank, no longer a demoted, unnecessary piece of thrash. She made a decision, against all odds. The blanket underneath felt good, the intense smell of Quel'Thalas and the warm breeze from the sea... It was pleasant. It felt like a picture. She would not have known that Neothir was there, if she had not looked to her side.
The girl was sitting on the blanket, fixing her gaze on Saegwyth. She'd smile but only when she was sure that the scout was looking at her.

“Do you like it in here? Say that you do.”
“I do, it's so...tranquil.”

Saegwyth realised she was not in her armour but in light clothes. Sunlight caressed her skin with force not experienced before, even in the longest of days, bordering spring and summer. Neothir offered her a handful of grapes, her expression remaining the same throughout their exchange.
“Help yourself, Saegwyth”

As the scribe reached forward to take a berry, a foreboding glow made her squint. The fruit appeared to be covered in runes, ones which she new all too well. Neothir was holding a bunch of miniature armed mana-bombs in her hand, grinning as she pushed them closer to Saegwyth's face. The flash was blinding, her blood boiled, no vaporised, sending a wave of unspoken torment through every cell of her body.

She woke up, abruptly, taking a look her quarters. Now, as a Sin Thori and a SIRU investigator, she was allocated a room with a rather big desk, in another part of the barracks. Though overlooking a square full of of flowers, it seemed bleak. The colours were faded in comparison to those in the Garden. She stepped to the opening in the wall. Sunlight felt nothing like the dream, it was almost agitating in its softness. How could the Sun not be enough? She remembered getting dressed at the beach in the small hours of the morning. Then the assurance that she was fine, sealed with the secret code, known to few.

She continued her musings on her way to the quarters, adding a few scribbles to her notepad upon arriving. Now, awake, she scanned her own intricate writing once again. The memory was still vibrant.
“Are you sure you're right?” Maphis did not smile, not even quirk an eyebrow. His face was a mask, his black hair in a tight ponytail, not to disturb any action or calculation. Saegwyth moved her hand through her hair, scratching her ear.
“I think I am, well, look, I think I got it right.” She lifted the parchment up to the man, hopeful. It was quickly taken from her smaller, still child like hands and inspected meticulously.
“It is inssufficient and rather disgraceful. You are at least 20% off an acceptable number, little sister.” The girl's ears flopped. “I'm sorry Maphis, I haven't read through that part yet.”
“It is elementary and essential. Such ignorance is unacceptable.” She frowned, her furrowed brows and a curtain of dark hair, covering her face. “I expect you to master it by the end of the week, otherwise, I am suspending my tutelage.”

How could she possibly know? She remembered how clear and easy it seemed, once she reached the relevant page in the tome. She would then complete every single equation given, even those slightly ahead. All it took was a bit of theory provided, a concept which was skipped, for the sake of simplicity, in previous chapters. Maphis was older. Maphis was right. Maphis knew everything. Maphis must have been a child once. Had she been born before him, she would have known things a long time ahead of him. But would she treat him like that? In all his glory, Maphis Dawnsinger made a mistake, a mistake of assumption and pride. Even his mind could not escape that...If so, what of lesser minds?
From a multitude of words one use to describe a person, “stubborn” was an obvious choice to define Saegwyth. Though scorned and deemed ignorant by her own flesh and blood, she kept on developing her skills, broadening her knowledge, refusing to stop at any time.

What of those less ferocious? Those more timid, closed, isolated? Was Amberlina Belorhas a lost little girl, cornered by reality and thus forced to escape? Neothir's intentions of presenting the space and time were sincere. But she was not truthful. It was a picture, a beautiful, alluring picture. It was static. There was no reaction for any action. It was as if she became a doll, not natural at all, rather a decoy, set in place to misdirect the chase.
She wanted to feel that sunlight on her skin again. It felt thrilling, safe, so intense... simply amazing. It made her want to stop thinking. No. Oh no. That was a trap. A beautiful trap indeed. What if a projection would be enough to experience that again?

The thought struck her quite abruptly, she was not expecting the brainwave, yet it was welcomed. Neothir was not real. The garden was not real. They were all bullies, pushing a child further and further away from herself. It escalated into a war, as her troubled mind was not able to cope so well and allowed more and more fantasy.

The child needed help. She needed care, attention, a lot of attention and a tutor. A teacher. A guide through the dangerous realm of reality. But would she listen? Suddenly, Saegwyth's thoughts became more organised, clearer. It seemed plausible to become a teacher, it required a lot of her time. It was a sacrifice in its own right. And teaching... had many different aspects to it, curiously. Sylvaelynn had to be told, as soon as possible.

Saegwyth dashed out of her quarter, her thoughts like racing felsteeds. Her scholarly part was skeptical. She could have always missed something, she might have been wrong. She had a theory to put to a test. She would not hesitate.