In front of me stood a black-furred, four-legged creature. Its eyes lovely, not threatening at all. Instead of showing its fangs, it seemed to smile.
I got up on my knees and shifted back.
By then, I’d met desert foxes, hyenas even, but this one was different, bigger. Then it dawned on me. A wolf. I’d read about them living on the green continent but I never imagined to cross paths with one. Its kindness could’ve been a trick to keep the prey calm. But against all probability, it sat down, breathing with its tongue out.
More of a dog than a beast.
The wolf looked uphill and then deep into my eyes, telling me to go on.
I got up, slightly nauseous but over-all refreshed. It could’ve been the end of me if I’d been paranoid enough to panic. But I’d let the forest consume me, believed that I was a root, a part of the ecological system—and was rewarded for it.
It was the first time I saw Dicheval up close and I realised that I was looking at a castle. The forest did a great job in covering the gigantic wall that surrounded it. The academy looked majestic, more precious than I estimated before. As if only the destined ones were allowed to enter and the rest would never find out what hides behind it, never getting a glimpse of the inside. I worried I would be one of the latter but strived on, eager to find out. While I took the final steps, the wolf accompanied me closely.
Following the narrow path, there was no gate in sight. I sprinted to the stonework, put my hands all over the wall and forced my fingers into the rims—reassuring myself that it was real.
Impatiently the wolf pulled on my dress with its monstrous fangs, nearly throwing me out of balance. It dragged me to the right but I didn’t let go of the wall until we came across an overgrown wooden door.
Without thinking twice, I rattled on the doorknob and realised it was open.
Like a warden, the wolf bowed down and bid farewell to me. I mouthed my gratitude and watched its fur disappear behind brushes.
Stroking through my hair, I pondered if the mammal recognised me as one of its own.
When I slipped through, my astonishment left me stunned but there it was: The Dicheval campus. A throbbing pulse sucked me in.
Finally, I arrived, too overwhelmed by this achievement to process my surroundings and enjoy the foreign architecture. Instead, driven by adrenaline, I moved forward to what seemed to be the main building.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a crow-like woman bumped into me. I looked down, her nose, or beak you could say, was buried in a book. In return she inspected me from head to toe, wrinkling one eyebrow.
“Excuse me, young lady,” she said, “I’ve never seen you before. How did you come in?”
I attempted to answer, but my throat was as dry as the desert that I came from, so as soon as I opened my mouth she had already dragged me by the arm into the building.
The halls were wide and echoed the click-clacks of her heels into all directions. There were no students. The campus stood quiet in the early morning, though I saw silhouettes running laps.
Without slowing down, the woman burst through a door where some of her colleagues were enjoying their breakfast and my stomach tightened. I had to hold myself back from shoving their pastry down my throat or lying down on the cosy couch that stood in the corner.
“Mother Moon, have mercy,” the crow exclaimed. “You won’t believe this.”
“Rose, calm down.” A rather chubby man jumped up from his seat and put out his cigarette. “What happened?”
“I found her in front of the gymnasium. She didn’t pass the gate. I suspect she came through the tunnel.”
“That I doubt. Surely she can explain herself.” He waited for a few seconds, scanning my look. “My name is Toms Harriet,” he continued, “This is Professor Rose.”
“Verra,” I answered and bowed. “I wanted to enrol in this academy. I didn’t use a tunnel.”
Professor Rose scoffed and pinched her eyes. “Of course you didn’t. Judging by your confused grimace, you know nothing about this place.” She gesticulated wildly. “To get enrolled, if suited, you should’ve sent the required papers months ago. Yet, there has been no Verra. I would know. Ver-ra. Does your folk have inherited names?“
“Camilla!” Professor Harriet interrupted her. “Calm down.”
“Vol-,“ I mumbled, “Volkov. My family name. I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” At my words, they both stepped back from me with distorted faces.
“You won’t believe this,” Professor Rose repeated.
Harriet walked her away, the clacking of her heels rather shaky and hesitant.
Sweat broke out of my pores. I wondered if my grandfather had been an excellent student and made a name for himself, or if he was a disobeying rebel that went down in school-history—now encouraged to be forgotten.
When Harriet returned, he lit another cigarette and stared at me.
“Follow me,” he whispered and left the room.
I tiptoed beside him and snuffled during our walk through the castle.
The walls we passed were clad in ashy wood. It was carved into flowing shapes around the doorframes. Wherever a chair stood by the wall, I noticed engraved names inside the rims, some filled with golden or silver paint. Yet from afar it appeared to be intentional and thus enhanced the pattern instead of ruining it. Between the narrow windows, rugs dangled from the ceiling to the floor. They portrayed history, I assumed, even though one depicted godlike creatures and left me sceptical.
It was a magical school, after all, a pinch of mysticism should have been expected.
In front of the gate, Harriet stopped.
I had applied too late. Not at all actually. The trip across the sea had been in vain and I began wailing.
“This is where you should’ve
