LESSONS

Drizzt mentally asked himself for probably the tenth time why he'd taken this job. He stood with his black arms crossed, studying the sullen blond-haired boy in the dim light of the school stable. Fierce lavender eyes met angry brown ones. Neither of them blinked. Drizzt sighed inwardly. Defending Ten-Towns was one thing. Slaying brutish creatures, keeping watch during endless nights, marching until fatigue overtook him, standing back to back with Bruenor against countless foes, that was just routine to the dark elf. But teaching school? What had he been thinking?! It was only for one moon, but the first two days had already tested the limits of his considerable patience. Then again, it was very difficult to say no to Cattie-Brie. She had agreed to teach the one-room school at Termalaine for one year, but after only three months, she had approached Drizzt. It seemed she had an important errand she must go on, and needed this favor. Even when he pressed her, the young woman would not reveal what the errand was. But Drizzt was her friend, and he felt he owed her this. Cattie-Brie had looked pleased and relieved when he had accepted. "I knew I could count on you," she had said, and without any further explanations, turned her horse and rode off towards the West.

And so Drizzt had gone to teach at the school on the hill the next morning. None of the students had seemed startled to see the dark elf. In fact, when he stood up to introduce himself, they all chorused, "Good morning Mr. Do'Urden!" Drizzt was momentarily taken aback, but then he smiled inwardly. It seemed Cattie-Brie had told them he was coming before she'd even spoken with him. Perhaps the young woman knew him better than he knew himself.

There had been the usual name-switching during role-call, but Drizzt's keen drow hearing had served him well there, as he had overheard the planning in the cloak room, and there were only three name-switchers anyway. He was mildly amused by their slack-jawed looks when he had pointed at each of them and matter-of-factly stated their real names. Even more amusing was their shock when he immediately set them to washing the floorboards while the other students were permitted to read library books. That over, he launched into the lesson plan Cattie-Brie had left for him.

It had never occurred to Drizzt that teaching school could be such a tiring job. It seemed that whenever his back was turned, mischief was afoot. Girls screamed at snakes that suddenly landed on their desks. Drizzt disposed of these with grim efficiency, or simply threw them out a nearby window. Other students inexplicably had ink or paste in their hair. And, more often than not, the culprit was a boy named Tom O'Neil. Approximately thirteen years old, Tom was always scowling. Drizzt knew that new teachers were often tested by their students. He met each challenge head-on, and soon Tom had cleaned the blackboard, the windows, the stove, and even the privy. He had carried in so many armloads of wood that the stack against the side wall nearly reached the ceiling. And all this in two days. But, instead of becoming better behaved, his defiant attitude seemed unchanged.

Then, this afternoon, on Drizzt's third day of teaching, Tom yanked Jim Bradley's chair out just as the boy sat down. Tom smirked in satisfaction at Jim's startled cry of pain. Drizzt's lavender eyes glinted in outrage. Without a word he swept down the aisle and helped Jim to his feet. He swiftly ushered the eleven-year-old into the cloak room and ascertained that his tail bone was not, in fact, broken. The boy's face was pale and tears welled up in his eyes. He jammed his fist into his mouth. Drizzt hastily escorted him outside, and down the hill a ways. "Save the boy some pride," he thought. The cloak room walls were too thin. Only then did Jim allow himself to cry. Drizzt laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Come back when you are ready," the drow said simply. He turned back to the school, lavender eyes glittering in outrage. Justice must be done. He would have to mete out punishment.

Tom was still snickering when Drizzt strode back into the school. He stopped abruptly when a midnight-black hand clamped onto his arm.

"How many armloads of wood should I carry in this time, sir?" Tom asked mockingly. "Oh, wait! I already carried in all of the cut wood!" Tom studied Drizzt's black face for a flicker of some emotion, but the drow remained impassive. Mr. Do'Urden was weak, Tom decided. This last stunt proved that he could do whatever he wanted, for the price of some cleaning job. A job which would be less boring than schoolwork.

His hand still locked onto Tom's arm, Drizzt swung his gaze around the room. "You will all turn to lesson ten in your literature books. I expect the entire page memorized by the time I return." Lesson ten was, in fact, a poem, but the shock on their faces at this pronouncement was somewhat gratifying. That said, Drizzt hauled Tom to his feet and marched him through the cloakroom and outside into the chill fall air. Tom was surprised at the slender drow's strength. His arm was beginning to hurt, and he tried to twist free. Drizzt had expected as much, and his iron-hard grip was unyielding. He led Tom into the school's empty stable and shut the door behind them. Only then did he release Tom's arm.

"I suppose you expect me to shovel this place out now," the boy said haughtily. "It's about the only place left to clean," he added with a smirk. Although there were no horses stabled here today, a few piles of old manure remained from last school year. Some old harness lay in a jumbled pile by the south wall where it had obviously fallen from the nails it should have been hanging on. This would take no time at all to clean – but he would make it take as long as possible, Tom decided.

Drizzt just stood and studied the boy for a moment. The thirteen-year-old was short and stocky, with angry brown eyes and messy blond hair. And Drizzt found himself wondering again why he had ever agreed to teach school. "No, that won't be necessary," Drizzt said finally.

Tom seemed genuinely surprised by this, but his smug look turned apprehensive when Drizzt walked over to the pile of harness and slowly and deliberately unlaced a long leather strap. "Making you clean things and giving you extra chores seems ineffectual," the drow continued, doubling over the strap in his ebony hand. "Obviously a different approach is necessary."

"Why not just pull a chair out from under me?" Tom sneered, the old defiance back in his voice.

"I considered it," Drizzt replied evenly, "but the danger of a broken tail bone is too great." Tom stared at him in disbelief. Then his gaze flicked back to the stable door for an instant. Drizzt seemed to read his mind. "If you run, I will catch you, and it will be worse," he said simply.

Tom considered. Even beneath the dark elf's tunic he could see the definition of his corded muscles. "I believe you," Tom muttered.

"Good." Drizzt casually slid the leather strap through his left hand. Anticipation of punishment was almost as bad as punishment itself. "Know that you bring this pain upon yourself, Tom. For the pain you caused Jim, I punish you in kind."

The boy did not reply.

"Turn around," the drow commanded. Tom obeyed.

Drizzt knew the strength in his own muscles. Careful to use only a fraction of it, he nevertheless brought the strap down hard. Tom did not so much as flinch. His only reaction was to reach out and hold on to the top board of the empty horse stall he was facing. Drizzt was surprised at the boy's toughness, but he did not show it. Increasing the power behind his blow fractionally, the dark elf struck again. This time Tom winced and gritted his teeth. Drizzt took no pleasure in it, but he knew this must be done. He brought the strap down even harder the third time, and Tom gasped. Grimly, Drizzt struck twice more, with equal force. Tom cried out during the final two blows, and Drizzt's drow eyes saw the tell-tale moisture welling up in Tom's brown ones. A human likely would not have noticed. He turned away and laid the strap aside, giving Tom time to blink hard before turning back.

"Next time, all five will be as hard as those last three."

"There won't be a next time."

"Good." Drizzt strode toward the stable door, but Tom stopped him with a question.

"Why not the woodshed?"

The school had a woodshed built on to one side of it, for easy access to more firewood in the winter. The place also doubled as the room where the strap was given. Everyone knew that.

"It's right there, and everyone can hear the whole thing, every single sou–"

Drizzt cut Tom off. "Humiliation only breeds contempt...anger. It was not my wish to humiliate you, only to correct; to administer justice."

Tom nodded, but he could not meet Drizzt's eyes. As the drow turned to leave, Tom felt a new emotion growing inside of him, something different than the anger he was used to. It was respect.

School was tedious, Drizzt decided. Boring. He needed to do something to liven it up. Perhaps he could teach a fencing class. He could borrow enough swords from Bruenor's clan. No – too dangerous, he decided. After all, the youngest children were only six years old. And 20 swords flashing around would be a bit difficult to control. Perhaps quarterstaves then. Yes, he decided. He could teach the basics of quarterstaff wielding to the older students, whilst the younger ones practiced throwing and catching balls, to hone their reflexes. It would be a start, at least. But what of the ones that seemingly had no interest in sports? What would appeal to them? He was tired of teaching nothing but basic mathematics, reading, writing, and memorization. The school needed some variety. Perhaps, he thought, an art class. Several of the children were always drawing on the sides of their parchment, on their slates, inside their desks, and on their hands. Even at recess they made pictures in the dust. Why not give them time to express themselves during class? Drizzt's lavender eyes missed little, and he often noticed children slyly drawing or reading during their other classes. Still, he could never bring himself to punish them for this, as other teachers likely would have. They were still learning, after all. Still, he was amused by their shock and disbelief when he quietly complemented some of the hastily-hidden drawings as he walked up and down the aisles.

Drizzt frowned slightly as he vaguely recalled his own upbringing in the Underdark city of Menzoberranzen. He most clearly remembered the blinding pain of snake-headed whips digging into his back for the slightest mistake. Clearly he was different from his people, whose ways he had rejected. He recalled his internal struggle of four days ago, as he had stood in the school stable and considered what he must do. In taking the strap in his hand, was he embodying again the very drow ways he had spurned? No, he had decided finally. This was not a punishment given out of anger, or for the purpose of displaying his power over a helpless person so that they would live in fear of him, it was a necessary correction – consequences that were just. And so he had carried it out. Drizzt did not doubt that he had done the right thing. And he was, indeed, different from his people.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Drizzt thought again of the idea of an art class. Maybe he could convince his halfling friend Regis to come and teach a carving class one day. The halfling was famed for his scrimshaw across Ten Towns. The students could carve wood, of course, as the knucklehead trout bone that Regis carved was not readily available, and took a great deal of skill and patience. Drizzt's face brightened slightly as he made his plans. Perhaps the final three weeks would not be so tedious as the first one had been.

Partway through the morning recess, Drizzt heard the cloak room door close quietly. Odd that anyone would want to come back in sooner than they had to. A whispered conversation followed, but to the sensitive drow ears it seemed as loud as normal speech would have to a human.

"Maggie, you've got to let Mr. Do'Urden see your hand! I can't get the splinter out."

Drizzt recognized the voice as that of Ellen Jameson, one of the thirteen-year-old students.

"No Ellen! Leave me alone!" a childish voice piped up. "Me mommy can pull it out when I get home."

"School's not out for another four hours, Maggie. By then your hand will hurt a lot worse. It's better to get it out right away," Ellen continued.

"I don't care! I'm going back outside!" the six-year-old exclaimed. "Let go of me!"

"Maggie, you'd let Miss Cattie-Brie pull it out, would you not?"

"Aye, Ellen, but Mr. Do'Urden frightens me. Me daddy says that Dark Elves are 'cruel, evil, sorcerous dogs'."

Drizzt shook his head slightly from inside the school room. Could he never escape the fear and prejudice of the surface-dwellers? The drow was surprised to hear Ellen's reply.

"Maggie, for shame! Other drow may be that way – that I do not know – but Mr. Do'Urden has been nothing but fair and kind since he arrived. He is strict, but you know that teachers have to be that way."

"I guess." Maggie didn't sound too sure.

"Then come on, and maybe we'll still have time to go out and play again after."

The door from the cloak room into the school opened, and Drizzt looked up from the teacher's desk, feigning surprise. "Recess will not be over for another fifteen minutes," he said.

Ellen ushered Maggie down the aisle towards Drizzt. "Maggie was climbing a tree and–"

"I got a splinter," Maggie said, looking at the floor. She held out her right hand for Drizzt's inspection, still not looking up at him. Her hand shook slightly, but the drow appeared not to notice. A dark brown sliver of wood about half an inch long was visible beneath the pale skin of her palm.

"So, how high did you climb?" Drizzt asked conversationally, as he searched through Cattie-Brie's desk drawers. The first one contained only new yellow chalk, bottles of ink, and rolls of parchment.

"Oh, nearly twelve feet, I should say," Maggie began excitedly, momentarily forgetting about her splinter. The second drawer had a small sewing kit with black and white thread, a few teacher's reference books, and a wooden ruler. "In fact, I climbed higher today than ever before! And one of these days, I'm going all the way to the top!"

"Excellent!" Drizzt said. "I have no doubt that you will." He found what he was looking for in the bottom drawer. There were a few medical supplies, gauze, a bottle labeled "For Wounds" in Cattie-Brie's writing, and a small pair of finely crafted tweezers, among other things. He took out the tweezers and came around the desk. Maggie took a small step back, the look of fear back in her eyes. Drizzt smiled in what he hoped was a friendly, disarming way, as he knelt down at eye level with the small human child. He took her small, pink hand in his strong, coal-black one. "Did I tell you that we're going to have an art class after recess?" Drizzt asked, positioning the tweezers.

The girl's eyes lit up. "Really?!" she said. "I love drawing, and–"

Drizzt quickly yanked the splinter from her palm, his lavender eyes never leaving her face. He held up the sharp sliver of wood for her inspection.

Maggie looked down at her palm and smiled shyly. "Thanks Mr. Do'Urden, I barely felt a thing!"

Drizzt smiled back. "Good."

Maggie ran outside for the last few minutes of recess, but Ellen, who had silently watched the whole thing, paused at the door. "I want to be a healer some day," she said. "That was very well done. I'll have to remember it."

Drizzt smiled again. "Thank you."

Quarterstaff rang on quarterstaff in the clearing beside the school on top of the hill. An onlooker may have been surprised to see girls as well as boys gripping the long, wooden staves and taking turns attacking and blocking. Down the hill a ways, the younger children played catch in the grassy meadow.

There were nine students aged eleven and older that Drizzt was training with quarterstaves. After a few days of solo drills, today was the first time he had them practice with each other. He had them form two lines, facing each other, and, as they had an odd number, he joined the shorter line. Then he instructed them to carefully and slowly take turns attacking and blocking. Every so often they would rotate, partially so that each student would practice with a variety of other students, but also so that Drizzt could assess how well each one was doing.

"Upper block...lower block...good," he told thirteen-year-old Ellen Jameson, the girl who wanted to be a healer. She smiled happily at his praise. "Rotate!"

Now Tom O'Neil faced Drizzt. Since the incident of five days ago, Drizzt had had no problems with him.

"I'm ready!" Tom shouted excitedly.

"Good." Drizzt began a slow series of attacks, which Tom blocked easily enough. He picked up the pace slightly, and Tom continued to block well. "Your turn," Drizzt said, falling back into a defensive posture. Tom grinned excitedly and pushed his messy blond hair out of his eyes. Without warning he swung his quarterstaff in a tight arc towards Drizzt's left temple. The drow blocked it easily enough, but nodded in approval. Eager to please his teacher, Tom executed a series of swings and jabs in quick succession, but the dark elf blocked them all and his own quarterstaff caught Tom against the back of his knees, knocking him to the ground.

"Slow down and concentrate," Drizzt instructed as he gave the boy a hand up. "You must not leave yourself open when you attack."

Tom scowled angrily. He knew how to fight! He didn't need to be taught something so simple as how to use a quarterstaff. Rather than slowing down, Tom attacked rapidly again, swinging and thrusting furiously with the quarterstaff. Drizzt blocked each of his attempts, and this time Tom felt the drow's quarterstaff smack against his ribs. The blow wasn't hard, but it was definitely noticeable.

"Concentrate," Drizzt repeated, not unkindly. "You left yourself open again." Tom felt as if he were being mocked. Angrily, he swung the quarterstaff with all his might. Drizzt blocked it solidly, and Tom felt the blow vibrate up his arms. Drizzt gave his own staff a quick jerk, disarming the angry youth. A moment later, Tom felt the smooth wood of Drizzt's staff pressed against his throat. "You must learn to control your anger," Drizzt said quietly, lowering his weapon. "Concentration and skill are required to win a battle. If you cannot control yourself, you will always make stupid mistakes." Tom said nothing, but turned and stalked away. Drizzt let him go. Hopefully the boy would think about his words. Class was over anyway.

The fall air was particularly chilly this morning, as a Northern wind swept down over Icewind Dale. Drizzt could see his breath as he sat on the steps of the schoolhouse, waiting for Ethan Jones to arrive. The red-headed nine-year-old hurried up the path, his worn shoes crunching the dead leaves with each step. In his hands he clutched the small bow Drizzt had made for him, and on his back he wore a leather quiver with the twelve precious arrows that Drizzt had fletched.

"Have you been practicing, Ethan?"

"Aye! Yesterday I got four bulls' eyes!" Ethan exclaimed.

"Excellent," Drizzt replied. When the red-headed boy had come to school with no lunch on Drizzt's first day of teaching, he dismissed it as forgetfulness, but after three consecutive days, he knew something was amiss. On the third day, Drizzt detained Ethan after class. The boy told him that his family was very poor, and there wasn't enough food for him to take a lunch to school. His father had died two years ago, and since then his mother struggled to provide Ethan and his two younger sisters with a breakfast of oatmeal and a supper of vegetable soup each day. From then on, Drizzt took it upon himself to teach Ethan how to use a bow and arrow, and how to hunt. They met an hour before school each day, and Drizzt took Ethan hunting. For the past week, Drizzt had shot a rabbit, squirrel, or partridge for Ethan each morning, taught him how to clean the game, and helped him build a small fire so that the boy could cook his lunch. He also brought the boy a chunk of bread each morning. When Ethan had finished cooking the meat, he would put it, along with the bread, into his knapsack, and save it until lunch time. He never failed to thank Drizzt each morning.

Today Ethan seemed particularly excited as they crept softly through the forest. Drizzt turned to point out a rabbit nibbling greens nearby, and he was pleased to see that the boy had already noticed it and was taking aim. Drizzt notched an arrow on his bowstring as well, and waited. He would shoot only if Ethan missed. With a twang, Ethan let the arrow fly. It made its mark.

"Yes!" the red-head hollered excitedly. He had just made his first kill.

Drizzt slipped his black-shafted arrow back into the quiver on his back and clapped Ethan on the shoulder. "Well done!" he praised. He couldn't have been more pleased if Ethan had been his own son.

Drizzt stepped outside of the schoolhouse just in time to see Tom O'Neil smash Jed Benson's nose with a vicious right hook. Jed thrust an arm up to block, and swung wildly at Tom, but the boy danced back out of reach. Tom was sailing in again with a left hook, but in a moment the drow was there. He caught Tom's fist in an open left palm and held Jed back with his right arm. "There had better be a good explanation for this," he said menacingly.

Jed clutched at his broken nose for a moment and then pointed bloody fingers at Tom. "He started it!" Tom glared back at the other boy, but made no reply.

Drizzt turned to him expectantly. "Well?" he growled. Tom met his fierce eyes for a moment, but then the anger drained from the boy's face and he looked away, ashamed. The school ground was quiet – too quiet. Drizzt realized that the 18 other children had stopped playing and were watching the scene unfold. He looked down at the two boys. "Come," he said, turning towards the schoolhouse. Jed followed, but Tom stood rooted to the spot, his face an unreadable mask. Drizzt looked back at the boy. "Come with me now," he said evenly, "or you'll wish you had."

Tom moved then, his eyes on the ground. How had he let this happen? he wondered. Mostly he felt ashamed – Mr. Do'Urden was disappointed in him, and that hurt worse than his bleeding knuckles, and the punishment he knew was coming.

Drizzt broke the thin layer of ice on top of the water pail and dipped a clean rag into the freezing water. "This will slow the bleeding," he explained, as he place the cold compress on the back of Jed's neck. The boy nodded. He sat miserably, pinching his bleeding nose with his handkerchief, as Drizzt had instructed him to do.

Satisfied, Drizzt turned to Tom and inspected his bloody knuckles. Bits of sand and dirt stuck in the raw flesh. Drizzt wet another rag and began cleaning the wound, none too gently. Tom gritted his teeth and Drizzt paused, going to the water pail to wet the rag again. He mentally chastised himself. As irritated as he felt, he knew he should still deal with this situation calmly. Drizzt silently blew out a long breath, waiting until he felt calmer, then finished washing Tom's knuckles, gently this time. Through all of this, Tom did not look up, but kept his eyes glued to the floor. The dark elf found Cattie-Brie's bottle labeled "For Wounds" and opened it. It smelled like dwarven ale. "Whatever works", the drow thought incredulously. He poured a few drops onto Tom's knuckles, and the boy jerked away at the sudden burning. Drizzt capped the bottle and sat back on a nearby desk, facing the two boys. "Now," he said sternly. "What happened?"

Jed recounted how he'd been about to get on one of the school's three swings when Tom came up and demanded it. Jed had refused, saying he'd just barely got the swing, and Tom would just have to wait like everyone else. That was when Tom punched him.

Tom had been silent throughout the story, and Drizzt turned to look at him now. "Tom? Is that how it was?"

Tom nodded unhappily, still not looking up.

"Jed, you might as well go home for the afternoon," Drizzt said. It wasn't like the boy would be able to concentrate on schoolwork for the next few hours anyway.

As Jed was going out the door Tom looked up. "Jed...I'm sorry," he stammered.

"You should be!" The door slammed.

Tom turned to Drizzt. "I really am sorry," he said beseechingly. He remembered Drizzt's warning of last week.

The drow's next words cut him. "So am I, Tom."

"Why can't I control my temper?!" Tom blurted out.

Drizzt didn't have an immediate answer. "It takes willpower," he said finally. "Discipline."

Tom looked up, brown eyes meeting lavender. "I want to control my temper," he said, "but then I start getting angry, and I forget the promises I made to myself...and to others."

Drizzt nodded thoughtfully. He was silent for many moments, studying Tom with his arms crossed, and Tom looked away, unable to continue meeting that intense gaze. "Perhaps I can help you remember," the drow said at last.

"Five?" Tom asked, his voice shaky.

"No," Drizzt answered. "One."

A look of confusion crossed Tom's face. He watched as Drizzt got up, reached under Miss Cattie-Brie's desk, and pulled out a gleaming, curved scimitar. "Or five," the drow continued. "Your choice."

"I don't understand," Tom stammered nervously.

"A cut across your right palm, or five lashes," Drizzt explained. "A cut takes awhile to heal," he continued, "and you use your hands for nearly everything you do. Everyday you would be reminded to control your temper. When we are drilling with quarterstaves you would feel it. Every time you clench your fist you would feel it."

Tom nodded slowly. "The cut then," he said.

Drizzt hesitated as a thought occurred to him. "It...will require that I sew it up. The blade is very sharp." Perhaps he should not be offering this option. But surely now the boy would choose the strap.

Tom met his gaze and held it. This would probably end up being the more painful choice after all. But he really wanted to gain mastery over himself. "The cut," he said again. His voice sounded determined, but his hand shook as he held it out.

Drizzt studied his face for a long moment, and finally nodded. With one quick motion he drew the blade across the boy's palm. Tom stared at his hand incredulously. The touch of the blade had been feather-light, and he had felt no pain, yet blood was welling up from a deep slash across his palm. Even as he looked at it, a hot, burning feeling spread across the wound, causing him to grit his teeth. Then Drizzt was pressing a piece of cotton gauze into Tom's hand. "Hold it tightly," he instructed. Drizzt went back to Cattie-Brie's desk and removed a small sewing needle and the black thread. He uncapped the little bottle of dwarven ale and poured some over both. Drizzt took Tom's pale hand in his own ebony one and gently pulled the gauze away. "Are you ready?" he asked. Tom nodded and closed his eyes. Drizzt worked quickly, bringing the skin together and knotting the thread. Tom made no sound throughout, but a few tears slipped silently down his cheeks. At last, it was done. Tom noted with irony that there were five stitches across his palm. Then Drizzt wrapped his hand in a clean strip of cloth and tied it securely.

The drow glanced out of the window and squinted at the painfully bright sun overhead. It was time for afternoon classes. He waited until Tom had finished washing his face at the water bucket, clapped him on the shoulder encouragingly, and then went to ring the bell.

The next two weeks went by in a blur to Drizzt. Stories were read, poems were memorized, multiplication tables were chanted. Maggie Benson climbed all the way to the top of her tree. Pictures were drawn and painted. Wood was carved under Drizzt's watchful eye. Jed and Tom were speaking again, and Tom had improved remarkably at quarterstaff dueling. Drizzt had pulled the boy's stitches out, and his hand was healed, although a vivid scar remained. It would fade with time. Ethan was hunting alone every morning, and now his mother and younger sisters enjoyed some meat in their evening meal as well. But Drizzt was glad the month was over. He still found school tedious. He longed to be outside, with Guenhwyvar beside him and the wind on his face. Tomorrow morning Cattie-Brie would be back to teach, and Drizzt would be free.

Cattie-Brie shivered in the early winter air as she walked up the hill to the little white schoolhouse. A cold wind carried the promise of snow in the near future. The harvest season was nearly ended, and soon students would be riding to school now that the horses would no longer be needed in the fields. She paused when she reached the clearing. A row of quarterstaves leaned on one side of the school building. A smile lit Cattie-Brie's lips. That would be Drizzt.

The cold air urged her inside, and she was surprised to see a banner tacked up on the cloakroom wall. It read WELCOME BACK! and was cut out paper-doll style, with the letters connected at the sides. Her smile grew even wider as she entered the classroom itself. Drawing and paintings hung all over the walls. There were flowers, sunsets, and horses, as well as wolves, yetis, and stick-figures. There was a picture of a large tree with a smiling little girl waving from the top. That would be Maggie, Cattie-Brie thought. Another picture showed a blond-haired boy and a drow elf with crossed quarterstaves. Even more intriguing were the little wooden carvings that sat on each desk. Some were animals, some were names painstakingly spelled out, some boats, and some flowers.

Cattie-Brie looked up, startled, when the door swung open. In walked Drizzt. He smiled rather shyly when he saw that Cattie-Brie was looking at the art. "I came to start the fire for you," he said, gesturing to the little stove in the center of the room. "I see you beat me here."

Cattie-Brie smiled. "The art is wonderful! And the little carvings are so clever. I'm sure quarterstaff class was well-received too."

"Yes," Drizzt said simply.

"I'll have to keep giving time for art and sports now, I suppose." She sounded reluctant, but the sparkle in her eye belayed her words.

"Was your errand successful?" Drizzt asked finally, moving over to the stove and arranging a pile of kindling.

Cattie-Brie seemed thoughtful, and then she nodded. "It was," she said, but looked away. After a few moments she walked closer to the stove and met Drizzt's eyes. "Drizzt...I had no errand," she admitted, her cheeks growing red with this confession. Drizzt has suspected as much, but he merely raised an eyebrow and waited.

"I just needed to get away from the school! I couldn't handle it! I couldn't handle Tom O'Neil!" Cattie-Brie blurted. "He seemed so...incorrigible. And he has no father at home...his mother told me she couldn't control him either. I thought I would go mad! Then I thought of you," she continued. "I thought, 'if anyone can change that boy, Drizzt can'." She looked at him sheepishly. "I didn't know what else to do. I hope you're not upset."

Drizzt shook his head slowly. "No," he said finally, "but there was no need to deceive me."

Cattie-Brie's cheeks grew even redder, and she inclined her head. "I'm sorry. I just...I just thought you'd think it was silly, or tell me to deal with it myself," she mumbled.

"Cattie." She was clearly avoiding his gaze, and Drizzt waited until she finally looked at him. "Cattie...It's only very rarely that I have ever thought you were silly–" he smiled briefly, remembering her as an 11-year-old child, "–and I am always glad to help you. Remember that."

Cattie-Brie smiled too. "I'll try to remember." She walked over to Tom O'Neil's desk, admiring the detailed carving of a wolf that sat on it. She glanced back at Drizzt, who was watching her. "About Tom–" her voice trailed off.

Drizzt nodded. "I believe Tom changed because he wanted to change, more than because of me – I just helped him along a little."

Cattie-Brie smiled a relieved smile. So Tom had changed. "Thank-you," she said simply.

Drizzt nodded. "The task was more difficult than I'd expected," he said, turning his attention back to the pile of kindling. "I've found that in some ways a teacher must be a counselor, healer, friend, and parent as well. It is a heavy responsibility for those who are called to it."

Cattie-Brie nodded. "Indeed. Which is why it is so important that the town find someone who is called to it." She paused. "I've let them know I'll only stay on until a suitable replacement can be found. I don't think teaching's for me." The fire was blazing cheerfully now and Drizzt stood up to go. "But when that time comes, I'll miss these children," Cattie-Brie finished.

Drizzt looked around the little schoolroom one more time, and his eyes came to rest on the drawing of the drow and the blond-haired boy with quarterstaves crossed. A part of him would miss these children as well.

Updated May 2015. Reviews welcome.