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The new crop of freshmen is mostly pretty ordinary. They're fresh out of middle school, playing with new identities, seeing how the batch from this neighborhood react to the batch fed in from the other side of town. They're bonding or forming petty enmities over music and fashion and flash-in-the-pan romances; they're developing opinions about their teachers and the quality of the cafeteria and how early they have to get up in the morning to catch the bus.
Here, sitting by herself writing in a prettily-bound notebook, is a twelve-year-old. Must have skipped a couple grades.
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deepest_magic
deepest_magic
Eventually, they wrestle the bundle out of the water.
One of Isabella's recovered objects was a little folding knife (ridiculously pretty, like all her things, but also sharp and efficient); soon she's cut the ropes and burlap off of what turns out to be a dwarf.
"Well," says the dwarf, when this has finished up and he's coughed up some water, "whatever they say, you don't feel like ghosts. Ghosts or not, you've saved my life, I'm much obliged to you."
"You're quite welcome," says Isabella.
One of Isabella's recovered objects was a little folding knife (ridiculously pretty, like all her things, but also sharp and efficient); soon she's cut the ropes and burlap off of what turns out to be a dwarf.
"Well," says the dwarf, when this has finished up and he's coughed up some water, "whatever they say, you don't feel like ghosts. Ghosts or not, you've saved my life, I'm much obliged to you."
"You're quite welcome," says Isabella.
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