Spelling is Important

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 18th February 2018

Characters: R'fal
Description: R'fal tries to write an assignment, it doesn't go well.
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 3, day 15 of Turn 9

: But why won't you come outside? The others are finished. :{

** It's just taking a little while, that's all. Why don't you find another
dragon to play with? I won't be long. **

R'fal lay on his elbows on his bed in the weyrling barracks and stared at the
worn piece of hide with a growing sense of despair. That morning, he'd shown up
for class feeling as though all was right with the world. He was getting better
at persuading Marlath to settle down and listen, and his own concentration was
improving too. It helped that the classes mostly concerned the life of a
dragonrider and the care of his dragon, which he found far more interesting than
any teaching he remembered from back home.

But today, the weyrlings would have to write a report on what they'd learned.
After hearing that, R'fal had spent the rest of the lecture trying to ignore his
nagging worry about the assignment rather than paying attention, and the slate
he'd been using to make notes contained only a few smudged lines. He slumped,
his head resting on the hide, which was still stubbornly empty of writing. Why
had he never realised that being a dragonrider would involve hidework? It had
been Turns since he'd written anything longer than a brief note or a stock list,
and even then, he'd not been the best of students...

*** Flashback - 6 Turns ago ***

Renfal frowned in concentration at the slate before him, which was half-covered
in scrawled letters, and chewed on his lower lip. Early evening sunlight was
streaming through the windows of the cothold and into the kitchen, where he'd
been perched on a chair at the table for what felt like hours. He could hear the
soft bleating of ovines outside, which sounded to his imagination as if they
were calling him to come out and play, but he couldn't move until he'd done his
lesson. His mother might look like she was busy peeling tubers for dinner, but
that could change instantly if he tried to make an escape.

Slowly, he wrote down one more line of clumsy letters, then decided that the
slate was very nearly full and he'd suffered long enough. "Ma! Finished!"

Lirena put down her peeling knife, took the boy's work from him and studied it,
while he watched her anxiously. Her expression did not look promising. As she
scanned the lines, her frown deepened.

"Renfal, there are two Es in Emerald, and one A. Two Es, then one A," she
repeated. "How many times do I have to tell you? How do you expect people to
understand your writing if you can't spell your own Hold's name properly?"

"But if you can tell that I wrote 'Emerald', why does it matter about the number
of Es?" Renfal asked, putting on his widest, most persuasive smile. "You know
what it says. Isn't that the point?"

She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Terren!"

"Eh?" The holder had been dozing, sprawled in an armchair by the fire with a
half-empty mug of klah by his side, and he started at the sound of his name. "What?"

"Will you please explain to your son..."

"Uh-oh. You're _my_ son. That must mean you're in trouble." He winked at the
boy. "What's he done now?"

"I want you to tell him why he needs to pay attention to his spelling. And I
haven't even got started on his handwriting. Look at this!" She waved the slate
in front of his face. "What is the harper going to think of my teaching, the
next time he visits?"

Terren yawned and sat up. "All right. Renfal, listen to your mother. Spelling is
important." He held up a hand to forestall any objections. "When you're older
and you meet a pretty girl, and you want to write her a love-letter, you won't
want her to think you're some dimwitted bumpkin who never learned to spell."

The boy stifled a giggle. "But Da! I'm not going to write to her about the
trades of Emerald Falls."

"No, but you might want to write an ode to her emerald-green eyes, that sparkle
like twin stars in the clear night sky..." A slow smile crept over his face as
he stood, slipping his arms around his wife's waist and drawing her close so the
offending slate was pressed close between their chests.

"And whose are these emerald-green eyes, may I ask?" Lirena gave him a long
look, but there was a note of resigned amusement in her voice.

"Just an hypothetical example." His face mirrored the wide-eyed innocence of his
son's. "If there's any word to describe the matchless beauty of your dark eyes,
my darling, then I don't know what it is. Or how to spell it."

"Terren!" she protested, though she couldn't help laughing. "Be serious. He
needs to learn. What if he has to write a report for the Lord Holder one day?"

"Maybe his lovely emerald-eyed wife will do it for him," he suggested, sliding
the slate from her hands and putting it on the table behind him. "Your work's
fine, son. Well done. Go on out and play."

"Yeah!" Renfal leapt up from the table and was out through the back door into
the yard before his mother could say another word. Saved from the drudgery of
lessons by his Da again! He couldn't wait until he was old enough to leave them
behind altogether and go out to work at his father's side. What good was neat
handwriting when the ovines had to be fed, or herded from barn to pasture and
back? The outdoors awaited him, the heat of the sun and the soft warmth of the
rain, the hum of insects and the feel of grass between his toes.

Though, perhaps there was something to what he'd said about the pretty girl.
Like the youngest daughter in the trader family who'd come by last month; she'd
had green eyes. Two Es and an A...or was it an E and two As?

Renfal shrugged and headed over to the canine kennels to play fetch. Spelling
was hard. He'd be better off bringing her flowers instead.

*** Present day, DCW ***

}: Aren't you finished yet? :{ Marlath asked drowsily from his couch. }: They
will turn out the light soon. :{

R'fal rubbed his temples and suppressed a groan. At least the hide now had
writing on it, but though he didn't know much about reports, he was pretty sure
that his effort didn't look how it was supposed to.

At least, he thought, his scrawl was half-concealing the fact that no matter how
hard he tried, he still couldn't remember how many Es there were in Emerald. Or,
for that matter, how many there were in a whole host of other words. There was
nothing for it, though. He was out of time, and he'd done the best he could.
He'd just have to put it aside, and see what the next day would bring.

Last updated on the March 2nd 2018

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Spelling is Important