Save Her From Failing

You come around the corner of the east hall and stop a few steps short of the nearest pillar. Frieda is already pinned against the wall by two older students. Her tail is wrapped tight around her left leg and her shoulders are drawn up so far that she looks like she is trying to fold into the stone. The taller of the two holds a training baton flat against her collarbone and she flinches without making a sound.

The second one, a girl with a rank-stitched cloak, reaches out and flicks the edge of Frieda's sleeve. She laughs and says something too low to hear from this distance. Frieda keeps her head down and her fingers curl into the hem of her uniform. She does not look up or try to push past them. The boy steps closer and the shadow of his arm falls across her face.

The hallway is mostly empty now. A few students move past without slowing and none of them turn their heads. The girl reaches for the strap of Frieda's bag and tugs it hard enough to make Frieda stumble sideways. Frieda's tail tightens further around her leg and her breath comes in short little hitches that she clearly tries to hide.

The taller boy flicks the baton against the wall next to her head and leans in until his face is only a few inches from hers. "A D-ranklight user in a combat track. What do you even do in a real fight, glow at someone until they feel bad about themselves?" Frieda flinches and her lips part but no sound comes out. Her tail twitches and she presses her back harder into the stone as if the wall might swallow her.

Frieda shifts her weight to the side and glances toward the far end of the hall where a maintenance door stands slightly open. "I don't... I'm not trying to fight anyone. I just need to get to the next class." The girl snorts and yanks the bag strap the rest of the way off Frieda's shoulder. The bag hits the floor with a soft thud and the top flap falls open just enough to show the edge of a small notebook. Frieda's hand twitches at her side but she does not reach for it.

The girl crouches down and picks up the notebook by the corner before Frieda can move. "What's this? Love letters? Or maybe you draw yourself glowing in the dark when you should be training?" Frieda's face flushes hard and she reaches out with a trembling hand. "Please... that's private. Don't open it." The girl ignores her and flicks the cover open with her thumb, only glancing at the first page before her expression twists into something sharp.

Frieda's breathing turns shallow and her tail uncoils from her leg just enough to lash once against the floor before going still. Her fingers stay frozen in the air where the notebook had been. The taller boy watches her reaction and grins like he has found something far better than a rank insult. Neither of them looks toward the far end of the hall where you are standing.

The girl holds the notebook out toward the boy and reads a line aloud with exaggerated breath. "Oh, this is so much worse than rank. Listen to this. Her scales shimmered as he pressed her against the library window." Frieda makes a strangled sound and lunges forward but the boy shoves her shoulder back against the wall. Her eyes go wide and wet and her tail lashes once behind her before dropping limp to the floor.

Frieda tries to keep her voice steady but it cracks on the second word. "Please stop. Just give it back. I... I won't report anything. Just leave me alone." The girl flips another page and reads a few more lines under her breath while the boy keeps his hand on Frieda's shoulder. Frieda's fingers dig into the stone behind her and she squeezes her eyes shut.

The hallway has mostly cleared now. A few academy staff pass at the far end but none of them turn toward the three students. Frieda can hear her own pulse in her ears. The girl flips through the notebook more slowly now, reading passages aloud to the boy but too quiet for Frieda to make out. She keeps her eyes shut and her back against the wall.

You are the only one left in the practice room after the last dismissal bell, and Frieda has been standing near the supply racks for almost ten minutes trying to make herself walk over. She keeps her tail wrapped low around her left leg, squeezing every time she glances at you, then looking away fast. Her hands are shaking a little as she presses the small notebook against her stomach. She tells herself this is just asking for help, nothing worse, but her chest feels tight and her face is already warm. She takes one step away from the racks, then stops when the floor creaks under her weight.

She watches you for a few more seconds, cataloging the fact that you are not doing anything dangerous or loud right now, which should make this easier. It does not. Her mind supplies a series of increasingly inappropriate scenes from the last novel she read, and she forces herself to blink them away because this is not the time. Her tail loosens and curls again around her ankle. She rocks once on her heels, then walks toward you with her head down, each step too small and too slow. Halfway across the room she almost turns back, but she thinks about the letter from her mother and keeps moving.

She stops about two paces away from you, close enough to speak without raising her voice but far enough that she could still pretend she was just passing by. Her fingers dig into the edge of the notebook cover. She opens her mouth, closes it, and swallows hard. The silence stretches long enough to feel like a failing grade on its own. Finally she shifts her weight forward, tail squeezing tight around her leg, and parts her lips.

She keeps her eyes fixed somewhere near your shoulder, not your face, and the words come out thin and uneven. "Um... you're still here." She immediately flinches at how stupid that sounds and her tail coils tighter, the tip twitching against her ankle.

She shuffles half a step closer and starts picking at the corner of the notebook with her thumb, glancing up just long enough to see if you look annoyed before dropping her gaze again. "I know you probably don't want to be bothered after training. I just... I need to ask you something." Her voice wavers on the last word and she has to breathe through her nose to keep going.

You can see her fighting the urge to retreat. Her shoulders stay hunched and her free hand keeps opening and closing at her side. She does not look at you for more than a second at a time. The air between you feels heavy with the effort it is taking her just to stand there.

She suddenly bows her head lower, both hands now gripping the notebook against her stomach, and her voice drops into a rushed, shaky plea. "I'm failing. I know I'm failing. I can't keep up with the light magic drills and my rank keeps dropping and if I don't pass the next evaluation they'll send another letter home and my family thinks I'm working hard and I'm not. So please... please just help me. I'll do anything. I'll clean your gear or take your shifts or whatever you want. I'm begging you." Her words tumble out until the last one cracks, and she keeps her head down, tail wrapped so tight around her leg it might leave marks.

You step into the training ring and Frieda follows a half step behind, her tail already winding around her own leg. She stops near the center and folds her hands in front of her, trying to look ready. The mat underfoot is worn smooth from a hundred earlier matches.

She glances at the empty benches and then back at you. Her breathing is too shallow for someone about to spar. Her fingers pick at the edge of her cloak while she waits for you to tell her where to stand. The quiet feels heavier than it should.

She shifts her weight and her tail tightens. Her mind keeps offering her different versions of this moment, most of them involving being pinned or praised or both. She blinks hard and forces her shoulders straight. It lasts less than a second before she starts fidgeting again.

She watches you settle into a stance across from her and mirrors it with a little too much delay. Her arms come up, but her elbows stay soft. "Um. You said you would go easy at first, right?" The words leave her mouth before she can stop them, and she immediately looks away like she has already said too much.

The silence stretches, and Frieda uses it to imagine the distance closing. Her tail slips free of her leg and thumps once against the mat. She bites the inside of her cheek and tries to remember the very basic guard position from the first week of class.

She adjusts her feet without being told, not actually fixing anything but making herself feel useful. "I should warn you. I might fall over if you grab my tail. It sort of just happens." Her face heats as she says it, and she quickly adds a small cough to pretend that was not the first thing she thought of.

She sees you shift closer and flinches, not from fear but from the sudden closeness. Her tail sweeps back around her ankle as if it wants to hide. "Could we maybe start with something slower? Like, not actual hitting yet. Just hand placement." The last two words hang in the air too long, and she closes her mouth into a thin line.

She lowers her hands halfway and glances up at you through half-lidded eyes, already losing the thread of the drill. "Sorry. I was just thinking about how close you would have to stand to correct my stance. I am paying attention now, I promise." Her tail gives a small, restless twitch against the mat, and she does not look even slightly ready.

Frieda sits in her usual corner of the residential ward, knees pulled up, her tail wrapped loosely around her own legs. Her head is tipped down toward the open book in her lap, and her breathing stays slow and uneven.

The page hasn't turned in several minutes. Her fingers pinch the corner of the paper, not quite turning it, just holding. Her other hand rests flat on her thigh, pressing down hard enough to leave small marks against the fabric.

She lifts her head when she hears movement nearby. Her gaze is half-lidded and a little too focused for someone who was just reading. She recognizes you and her lips part slightly, but she doesn't say anything yet. She tugs on your sleeve instead, a single soft pull, then lowers her gaze back to the book.

She shifts closer, the book still open in her lap, and her tail uncurls from around her legs only to slide loosely against the side of your leg. "You came back." Her voice is low and a little thick, like she's been holding her breath. She doesn't look up at you when she says it, just keeps her eyes on the page.

Her thumb traces the edge of the open book, following the lines of text without reading them. "I was just thinking about the training you gave me." The words come out polite, but her face flushes. She squeezes her thighs together, and the book shifts against her lap. "And then I started reading this."

She stays like that for a moment, breathing through her mouth, the tip of her tail twitching against your ankle. The room feels quieter than it should. She doesn't close the book, and she doesn't turn the page.

She finally lifts her head, her gaze meeting yours for only a second before dropping back down. "Do you ever think about doing the things in books?" Her voice trails off. She brings the book up a little, covering the lower half of her face, though she doesn't stop watching your reaction from over the top of the pages.

Her tail tightens around your leg for just a moment, then loosens like she's caught herself. She lowers the book and taps one finger against a passage on the page. "If you wanted to reenact this part with me," she says, quieter now, "I wouldn't say no."