The morning breeze was crisp and playful as it tinkled the little bells on the eaves. It

nipped at Gyamma’s pale cheeks bringing a slight flush to them. Yesterday’s snow still covered the cobbled streets below, and in the mild and ineffective sunlight, it seemed like the night was yet loathe to release its hold over the hour.

The city below was quiet and asleep, as were the occupants of the university around her.

Most of them were willing to wait until the sun won over the day from the cold wind and the snowflakes it was still blowing around. But for Gyamma, this was her favourite time of the day. With her eyes closed, it was easy to imagine she was back home in the mountains.

Gyamma breathed a deliciously satisfying sigh and let the air currents swing her back and forth gently, as she hung by one hand from the beams of the balcony roof. The wood added a rhythmic creaking to the breeze under her weight.

“There’ll be trouble if anyone catches you doing that.”

The amused voice sounded from a little below her perch.

Gyamma opened her eyes and looked at the young man smiling up at her, holding two cups of steaming tea. He held one out.

She smiled in mild exasperation but released the Pinning. Her palm immediately came free of the wooden beam, and she dropped a couple of feet to the floor, landing on her toes with a gentle thud.

“None of these lazy snorers have ever seen me,” she said, accepting the tea.

“Besides, what does it matter; I only have a week or so left here anyway.”

“I hope I have your confidence when it’s my turn to graduate, Miss scholar supreme! I feel like I’m going to be stuck here for decades.”

Gyamma threw him a cynical look. “Spare me your false modesty Narme. You keep saying that, and yet the Gurus somehow can’t seem to stop praising your Healing skills.”

Narme mumbled something in half-hearted defense and trailed off into nothing. The two of them

enjoyed their tea in silence, as the world below came to life. The street cleaners were the first to venture out, using Heat-touch to melt the snows, quickly clearing up the path for the busy day to follow. As the minutes passed, the breakfast hut and tea-stall vendors opened their shutters with loud, cheery cries, inviting the cleaners to break for their morning meals.

The pair on the balcony stood close in unspoken comfort, enjoying the routine sights and sounds.

“So,” said Narme, “How did the meeting with your special friend Myaddan last night go?”

He looked sideways at Gyamma with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

Gyamma was silent for a moment. “It was quite interesting,” she said carefully, “he actually made me a proposal.”

It was Narme’s turn to be silent. “Oh,” he said finally, “And... what did you make of it?”

Gyamma looked up at him curiously. “What do you think I made of it?”

Narme avoided looking straight at her, and instead shrugged and sipped his tea with dramatic nonchalance.

“How would I know?” he said, “He seems a decent sort I suppose, and he is a Highlander like you...”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know anything about him or his family other than what you’ve told me, but if you’re interested, I guess-”

“Oh stop being so serious!” cut in Gyamma. “I turned him down of course, and I feel terrible about it! He was so gracious, and his eyes seemed so sad… it was just so unexpected, I never imagined he had anything like it on his mind! I just hope I let him down gently...”

“Ah,” said Narme, “Why didn’t you say so sooner? Anyway, er... Will you look at the time! We’ll talk more about it later, we need to be off, come on!”

He gulped his tea down, and practically ran down the long balcony without waiting for her.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Gyamma looked at the disappearing figure with a mixture of amusement and confusion. He is a Highlander like you he’d said. Had his words implied a regretful Which I am not? His discomfort at the topic hinted at something, but...

She frowned at herself. What was she thinking? Narme had never shown romantic inclinations towards anything, and - more importantly - he was Plainsfolk. The absurd incongruity of their pair stuck out like a frostbitten toe.

To start with, she was three feet shorter than the lanky plainsman, even if her height was quite average for a Highlander. Add to that her large, webbed and textured hands and feet, her stocky, squat and pale build - next to her, any Plainsman would seem delicate, and Narme, with his thin stoop, looked especially fragile. The differences in their worlds were painfully obvious.

Gyamma shook herself out of her reverie and glanced at the small Sun Plant in the potter affixed to the wall. Its fat, succulent leaves slowly breathing in and out, now turning a bluish green, indicating it was almost time for breakfast.

It dawned on Gyamma that she was on kitchen rotation today, meaning she was late - the other students would already be gathering in the kitchens and meal halls. With a yelp, she started after Narme yelling for him to slow down.

In the kitchens, however, she found no sign of him. The place was already humming with activity. Near the stoves, the cook for the day held a piece of wood, Touching it with Heat to light a fire. In another corner, a youth stood over a few empty buckets, with his hands stretched outward. Big blobs of water formed periodically under his hands, and dropped into the buckets with a splash. Touch-water like this, with the proper salting treatment, was the primary source of water at the university.

Gyamma rushed through the entrance to the pantry, where other students were pushing heavy wooden crates of supplies to the kitchen, clearly using Touches of Strength to move them. With no more time to waste, she quickly located the kitchen in-charge, a grumpy student she recognized from her Archive Study classes.

“Where were you?” the woman snapped, waving her to a bowl of vegetables to chop.

Gyamma stumbled over an apology and took up the task.

Kitchen duty was her least favourite. She had always struggled with learning the strange recipes common to Plainsfolk cuisine, but the worst of it was having to interact and coordinate with the others on rotation. Gyamma didn’t mind the grumpy in-charge - at least she was equally ill-tempered with everyone. That was better treatment than the usual indifference or outright hostility with which other students saw Gyamma. Most of them still firmly believed a university was no place for a Highlander.

Gyamma worked at the vegetables alone, speaking little, passing them to the cook in quick bursts of motion. Once done, she washed her face and hands and took off to the meal halls to wait on the Gurus while they dined. Only after their teachers were finished did the students begin their own meals.

Gyamma piled up some food on her plate and looked around for her only friend. Narme waved from one of their usual spots and she walked over, catching up with the conversation he was having with another woman.

“...and I think I shall apply to the Congress of Healers, if Guru Jaddan provides a recommendation,” she was finishing. She saw Gyamma sit down on the floor next to Narme and offered a cursory greeting.

“I’m glad you’re applying to the Healer’s, Nirla, you’re very talented in the field,” Gyamma said. Students typically chose one field of the sciences to specialize in, and Nirla was one of the top in Healing. She was born with the Touch of Healing, which had likely made it a little easier for her at first, giving her a natural intuition others had to learn. But like any science, intuition was only an initial boost: beyond a certain level it was hard work regardless.

Gyamma was both impressed, and also a little ashamed of the mild resentment she felt towards those born with a Touch they could apply to their fields directly. She herself had struggled to learn everything from the very basics: there were not many sciences where her Pinning and Breath were an obvious advantage.

Nirla smiled back at her. “Thank you...er… Gyanna is it? I hear you’re not too bad yourself at Touch Farming, in spite of being a Highlander. You’re an inspiration to your kind, I’m sure!“

In spite of being a Highlander.

The statement stung of casual condescension. Gyamma was no stranger to remarks like this - people like Nirla often patronizingly assumed that they were somehow complimenting her, as though her race was some inherent handicap she had bravely overcome. Gyamma, however, let it pass with an internal sigh and a polite thank you. She had long been inured to these barbs, and she was in no mood to pick a fight.

Narme looked at Nirla with an uncomfortable squint, and attempted to make things better.

“You know, Gyamma is planning to apply to the Congress of Green too!”, he said, “Guru Para had suggested she would be willing to recommend her, isn’t that exciting?”

Nirla looked surprised. “Oh! I didn’t think - you’re applying too then?”

“Yes, I’m hoping to continue my work on the Touch-groves with the Congress in the city. You seem surprised though,” Gyamma added.

“Oh I’m sorry, I just thought - I imagined you would want to go back to your own people once you graduated. I’m sure you’ve found city life so dreary compared to the mountains.”

Nirla changed the subject in a hurry.

Gyamma was quiet for the rest of the meal and excused herself as soon as she could. An old melancholy was building up within her again, whispering its familiar and unwelcome thoughts.

You’ve seen and heard worse, she tried to tell herself, but the reply from her mind was the same as always. You are not wanted here.

As she walked, she flexed her fingers, Pinning them to nothing, just using the feeling of pressure to soothe herself. She almost ran now, letting her feet carry her back to the balcony, and fell on the railings, breathing in the fresh open air as though it would dispel the bitterness of being rejected.

From the balcony she could see the tips of the far away mountains, and she tried to let her mind wander back to pleasant memories of home.