Her hand flies across the page, pen skimming just above the paper, occassionally leaving tick marks, notes and corrections in red. Her second level Thalassian students had balked when given assignments, but most of them had turned in their work on Monday as instructed, into the jerry-rigged mailbox that sent every one straight to her desk in Shattrath.
It surprised her how easily she slid into teaching. She had expected it to be difficult. Having never taught before, being a student herself, being barely older than most of the students, she'd half expected to flounder at first, have to earn their respect. What she hadn't expected was to walk in on Thursday morning and confound the students with her rapid, fluid Thalassian. The position of authority was remarkably easy to take on, and she'd established herself from the beginning as the clear teacher, and other than a few troublemakers, the class had overall been very manageable.
If only deciphering their illegible handwriting and horrible grammar were as easy.
She winces at one particular mistake. Home. It's not one of the worse ones, actually, or even particularly difficult. There are seven words in Thalassian for home, each with a different contextual meaning, and it's difficult to tell one from another for any non-native speaker, but the word used is equivalent to hometown, and after tonight it strikes particularly close to her heart.
Lentodnel, in his rather blunt manner, had had a point. Her home had never stopped being Dalaran, not even when it was in ruins. Stormwind, Ironforge, Goldshire, Shattrath, they'd always been temporary lodgings for her and she knew it. She'd put off the idea of going back so often, for so long, that she'd fooled herself into believing it could last forever. But it couldn't. It wouldn't be now. She had to complete her training, she had lessons to teach, and she had an arrogant blood elf to beat humility into. But the day would come soon.
