Hawthorn Realm Chapter Two

Hawthorn Realm
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Chapter Two
Word Count 769

"Miss Synan." Professor Maudlin rapped sharply on the wooden desk.

"Miss Synan." The pretty 14 year old brunette jumped up?, knocking her knees against the desk bottom and sending her notebook sliding to the floor. Her face reddened as she leaned over and picked it up. mumbling, "I'm terribly sorry, Professor Maudlin."

"That's a start. I trust we're not disturbing you, Despite the fact that you're terrible at being sorry."

"Professor, I..."

Semantics, Miss Synan, feel free to leave out the adverb. Now that you have earned the classes undivided attention, Perhaps you could enlighten us as to the definition of Tir na nog. We are all anxiously awaiting your response, Miss Synan."

"Yes, Professor. Tir na nog can be defined as The land of Eternal Youth. In some ways It closely parallels the Greek equivalent of Elysium."

"And how does one find or enter this mystical realm of Tir na nog, Miss Synan?"

"By accepting an invitation of the wee folk."

" Miss Synan."

"Yes, Professor."

"I have a novel idea." The professor's voice sounded amused. "See what you think. Rather then my standing here eliciting responses from you one by one, Why don't you throw caution to the wind, Dispense with the use of platitudinous answers. and acquaint us with a short and snappy straightforward summarization."

"Yes Professor."

The professor turned, clasped his hands behind his back and walked to his lectern, where he stood silent as a statue. After thirty or so seconds of silence had passed, he turned his gaze to the to the young girl. She stood fidgeting, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

"Miss Synan?"

"Professor?"

Are you waiting for anything in particular before you begin? A trolley or bus maybe? Perhaps a trip to the loo?"

"No, professor...it's just..."

"Just what, Miss Synan?"

"Its just... " Her voice quivered. "I don't know where to begin. There's so much to tell."

The professor placed both arms on the lectern. And leaned forward.

"It has been my experience, Miss Synan, that the best place to start is usually at the beginning, Although..." He paused and surveyed the class, his green eyes sweeping the room like a searchlight looking for an airplane. "Although at the end of this class," He looked pointedly at the young girl, "That is to say if it ends, I will be assigning a 3500 word essay on the migration of the Celts and their considerable influence in France, Germany, the British Isles, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales." He smiled. "Prior, of course, to the Eighteenth century."

There was a muffled groan from the back of the room.

"Mr. Crawford." The professor looked straight at the dark haired boy.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Are you in some kind of difficulty?"

The boy stood. "Um...no, Professor, just clearing my...I had a frog in my throat."

The Professor nodded sagely "Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Crawford. Take your seat."

"Miss Synan. Let's talk Fairies."