The Academy: i read with every broken heart we should become more adventurous; nicodemus

Nighteyes is about to prove that it is, in fact, possible to teach an old dog new tricks.

He doesn’t feel old, or he didn’t until he found himself surrounded by nubile bodies with their rippling muscles and sleek coats. He has a handful of years on the oldest he has seen – at twelve, he is not by any means near death, but he is no unseasoned foal. It shows. His face is grizzled a little, flecks of white in the blue-black of his hair; his coat is fluffy more than sleek, and he is growing (as ponies are wont to do) alarmingly fluffy with the coming of the cold weather. He moves with complete serenity. He does not hurry or jostle or jump. He is old enough to have learned the benefit of taking one’s time.

One would think that he would resent being taught by some younger creature, full of younger thoughts – but the opposite is true. Nighteyes, for sure, does not care. He has no wisdom of this place or the things that run it; better he be taught by someone that has been here for much longer, regardless of whether or not he could have fathered them.

He steps into the quiet lushness of the Academy, wholly peaceful, and waits.