Entry tags:
the dog days are over, the dog days are done
Arya hates school.
She doesn't even need a full day to decide that. She'd decided it before arriving, honestly, but Sansa had mentioned they'd take her away from her sister if she didn't go, that it was the law, and she wasn't having any part in that. Enough people in her life were gone, she wasn't about to let Sansa go anywhere without a fight.
But she still fights Sansa about the whole thing. Especially the fact she's not allowed to take her sword. It's stupid, a double-standard, because nobody would stop her from taking sewing needles, she's sure, but apparently Needle is dangerous. She can't help it if they're afraid. But she still gives in and even brushes her hair and goes and decides by something they call recess that she's absolutely done with this school business.
She's never felt so stupid. And that's really saying something.
At least she'd known what Septa Mordane was talking about, even if she wasn't any good at it. At least she understood, theoretically, how the instructions were meant to work. But here there's discussion of history she's never heard of, mathematical and scientific formulas that sound as foreign as Dothraki in her head. There's languages, too, but nobody's offering to teach her Valyrian here.
It just doesn't seem fair at all, and when the bell rings she marches outside and brushes past the crowd of classmates until she finds a spot in the shade beside a tree. Slumping down beside it, she reaches into her bag and pulls out the food Sansa had bought her at the store. But she wants none of it.
None of it tastes like home.
She doesn't even need a full day to decide that. She'd decided it before arriving, honestly, but Sansa had mentioned they'd take her away from her sister if she didn't go, that it was the law, and she wasn't having any part in that. Enough people in her life were gone, she wasn't about to let Sansa go anywhere without a fight.
But she still fights Sansa about the whole thing. Especially the fact she's not allowed to take her sword. It's stupid, a double-standard, because nobody would stop her from taking sewing needles, she's sure, but apparently Needle is dangerous. She can't help it if they're afraid. But she still gives in and even brushes her hair and goes and decides by something they call recess that she's absolutely done with this school business.
She's never felt so stupid. And that's really saying something.
At least she'd known what Septa Mordane was talking about, even if she wasn't any good at it. At least she understood, theoretically, how the instructions were meant to work. But here there's discussion of history she's never heard of, mathematical and scientific formulas that sound as foreign as Dothraki in her head. There's languages, too, but nobody's offering to teach her Valyrian here.
It just doesn't seem fair at all, and when the bell rings she marches outside and brushes past the crowd of classmates until she finds a spot in the shade beside a tree. Slumping down beside it, she reaches into her bag and pulls out the food Sansa had bought her at the store. But she wants none of it.
None of it tastes like home.