There were archery lessons, and then there was writing. Hayame has the children practice, moving sticks to copy the letters she scratches into the ground. A. I. U. E. O. Ka. Ki. Ku. Ke. Ko. This wasn’t like Hathaway, like ALASTAIR, where the precious commodity of paper was just available to whoever wanted it, like it wasn’t something that took hours of work to produce. Over and over she makes them wipe the dirt flat and start again, all the sounds of the words they spoke transcribed into squiggles and shapes. Hayame is as tough an instructor at writing as she is at shooting… even on the armless Kohibari, valiantly struggling with the stick held in his teeth.

“Why can’t we learn more about hunting or something exciting?” One of the younger foals, (a terribly chatty one), mutters in frustration after she’d swatted his behind with the butt of her bow for drawing bears instead of spelling. “Why do we have to learn these anyway?”

“Because we’re not animals. We can write just like humans do.” Her rebuttal was strict, accompanied by a glower and an irritated stamp of her hoof, but the cheeky thing wasn’t satisfied with the answer, still grumbling even as he bows under her pressure and began scratching characters into the dirt.

“We don’t even talk to humans, so what does it matter-“ It mattered because she said it did, damn it, and though it took far more effort than she’d like, trying to explain to a child that age why one had to prepare for a possible future, for the worst case scenario that they’d come into contact with humans again, she is eventually allowed a return to blissful obedience, perusing the students with a critical eye, walking amongst them and fixing what she could, advancing the more clever ones on to kanji characters where feasible. Until Kohibari pipes up around the stick in his mouth as if he were a child still himself, even with his firstborn son playing idly with his tail.

“Who taught you, Hayame?” Did he know? Did he suspect? She finds herself frozen for a moment, staring down at him and trying to recall every time they had crossed paths in their master’s stables. He would know that their master had only taught his charges basic symbols for the possibility of needing to communicate via bird, would know that to be able to read wasn’t even something many humans could do. At least, not humans the like who caught and trained jinba.

Majima could have passed for one of the stable hands if he tried, with that long tail of hair and eye patch, rough around the edges yet possessed of a steady hand. But he was educated. A good teacher, in his way. The source of a bundle of papers covered in useful words and characters he had written down for her to copy once upon a time, hidden carefully along with most of the other things she had brought home from Hathaway. Hayame recalls in that instant the sight of Hanabira’s mountain lands, covered in cherry blossoms and viewed from the hillside over a casket of spirits. That damned troublesome goat. The sea hawk feathers she’d found outside her door on Headquarters. A dinner of “crabs”.

Too much time passes in her reverie. More of the children began to look up in anticipation of the answer, began to lose their focus in the silence, to crack a joke or play fight with their sticks instead of write.

“Were you not the one who said just yesterday that not all humans were bad, Kohibari? There is your answer. Now, set an example for your son and actually focus on your work for once.” A few snickers from the younger students, a huff from the eldest… and the moment is forgotten without the name “Maijma” given.

… After all. She had told him she would not do him the dishonor of naming him as her instructor, poor at writing as she had proven to be.

But that level… it would have to be good enough for this village. For the future.