“A ha! That’s where they’ve taken you off to!” The pair of misplaced books glared at Ancaerin down the length of the Academy’s hallway, as though blaming him for their mistreatment. “Apprentices,” the bard muttered to the tomes, as he scooped them gingerly into the crook of his arm. The vast majority of the books in the Academy’s library were completely benign, but it never hurt to be respectful where wizardry was concerned.
Proper respect was a lesson that the new crop of apprentices had yet to learn. They appeared diligent enough at their studies, but Ancaerin found himself constantly picking up after them, interceding on their behalves when they ran afoul of Hermedhie’s epic temper, or – worst of all – meeting with their noble parents when the baronets and marquises inevitably came to ask why they had not heard from their offspring for the past three months or more.