[claim] remy darling

Long before the bell’s eight tolls rang across the courtyard, the rustle of sheets and the quiet scuffling of small, socked feet could be heard. Rows of bright eyes peered out of large picture windows, watching as the sun continued its climb into the sky; small hands fidgeted, fraying the edges of blankets or picking at wooden bedframes as eager young children waited for the clock to strike the waking hour.

 

At the first toll of the bell, the room burst into life, shrieks of joy waking the few that had not yet risen from their slumber. The Eights were first out the door, the corners of bedding tucked haphazardly under mattresses and clothing hastily donned, shirts untucked and buttons askew. They raced down the corridors to the dining hall, which had been specially decorated: trails of ribbons, adorned with bells, hung from the ornate rafters and adorned the usually-plain vases on the tables.

 

By the time breakfast was served, the hall was alive with the children’s chatter. Jealous Sevens looked enviously at their seniors, looking forward to their Choosing Day. Knowing Elevens smiled indulgently at the Eights’ excitement, remembering their own. Some of the older kids had noticed an extra shadow around the stables as the Eights volunteered for every duty from mucking to feeding; the closer to this morning it had been, the more shy faces had popped up, offering their help.

 

The tutors shook their heads, smiles on their faces. Choosing Day was unequivocally the most anticipated day of the year. Those who had reached eight years of age on or before the Day were invited out to the *Zöldellők*, the rolling green hills surrounding the town, to comb the lush summer meadows for semi-wild Szívelova ponies. It was a time to put what the Eights had learned to the test; after months of training on the care and keeping of the litttle equines, the children were finally ready for a pony of their own.

 

The Eights had been included in the previous year's Choosing Day, for it was important that they saw how the process worked. The then-Eights - now Nines, of course - had each chosen a bell ribbon from the market stall by the edge of town, and hiked up into the hillside accompanied by their tutors. Some chose to work with a friend, while others stood observing the herds alone. When the time was right, they pulled treats and noisemakers from their pockets, approaching the horse they most wanted to bond, and prayed the pony would let them braid the bell into their mane.

 

This year, there were four Eights standing abreast in front of the dorms' double doors as the tutors tutted at their poorly-made beds and sloppy dress.

 

"Discipline shall not slip today, of all days, simply because you are excited," Mistress Lyon chastised gently. "Go on, fix everything up, and we shall make haste to the fields. Be on your best behaviour - we won't be the only ones looking for ponies today."

 

Asha held in a sigh as she scuttled across the room to her bed in the far corner. Seeing the mess of her sheets, she straighted them and folded the corners as they'd been taught. Looking in the mirror, she pulled at her uniform until it sat properly on her body, adjusting two buttons that had been in the wrong holes. At a nod from Mistress Lyon, a grin spread across her face and she pelted for the door, eager to be the first on the school van to the fields. For weeks, she'd had her heart set on a little buckskin-and-white pony, a mare that looked the perfect height for her to grow into over the next few years. 

 

With the help of a conspiratorial Fifteen, she'd first snuck out to the back field at the Academy two months ago to watch the herds from afar, planning her approach. In the intervening weeks, she gathered as many pony-friendly treats as she could, learning the hard way that rotten carrots created an awful stench but that peppermints could be easily hidden behind the headboard of her dormitory bed.

 

Now, she'd finally get her chance to meet the mare.