Demeter was late for the coach. Mr Tallis was told by a reliable source from the Upper fifth that she was in love with the small Saker Falcon and they might as well leave her to her fate. Fate was something Mr Tallis had no time for being a geographer and he sent Amy Boulton to find her, something that Amy had been trying to do one way and another all term.
The saker falcon seemed unperturbed by the red haired girl’s enchanted stare: only the rippling of her fingers in the sunshine brought his eyes to her face and then he would look away imagining perhaps a return to the steppes of Asia or the Russian Altai Mountains. For Demeter had read his life story on the plaque on his cave and being a daily biographer of others was lost as always in some far away place.
Amy stopped at the side of Demeter and watched the falcon. Genus Falcon. Species: Cherrug. The solidity of the words made her smile and she replanted her boots carefully next to Demeter’s sandals, repeating the words out loud.
‘Genus falcon. Species: Cherrug.’ There was something teasing about the way she drew out the ‘cherrrruuuug’ that jolted Demeter back from the Mongolian steppes or wherever she had been lingering and she flashed her eyes at Amy who continued to look at the bird.
‘I have been sent to collect you Demeter’ she said and Demeter caught onto a voice that made her think of rich stews and wet wood.
‘I like it here’ returned Demeter irrelevantly and Amy laughed and linked her arm and whispered in her ear, ‘good byes are but temporary’ and laughingly guided her back up the white path but slowly too as Amy watched their feet match and mismatch all the way to the coach.
Mr Tallis glared at Demeter as Amy true to her word guided her onto the coach, lightly pushing her into the spare seats behind the History Dept and laughing as Jason their driver for the day pointedly started up the engine and set off for home.
Mr Tallis repeated his earlier instructions about course work and field trips over the tannoy and pointedly reaffirmed the need for punctuality and commitment at all times. But Demeter had only come because there were spare places and she looked out of the window into the sun.
Wet wood in her ear: ‘Apparently the saker falcon feeds on red cheeked Sousliks in the wild. Citellus erythrogenys to you and me Demeter. I think you should make a note…’
Demeter turned her neck and looked sideways at the black eyes gazing right back at her. Amy had the curious sensation that she was back in front of the falcon again and held her breath to see what Demeter would do. She was suddenly glad she had been not a small ground squirrel in Asia with red cheeks. Demeter frowned at Amy and reached for a small yellow book from her bag and then held it out to her companion.
‘Please could you write down what you have just said Amy?’ And Demeter held out an ink pen almost as a challenge. Amy raised her knees and smilingly wrote in the book, inking in a small cartoon of a black falcon (the ink was black) diving upon a small creature that looked more cheeky than fearful. She then added a tree (also black) and a mountain with a cave mouth and a girl with long hair standing on at the foot of the mountain looking upwards. Demeter with her sidelong way of looking at people she was intrigued by noticed she had eczema and this surprised her.
There! Amy laughingly handed Demeter back her book. Caught up in another place Demeter reached out her left hand and touched Amy’s right one: ‘does it hurt much? Is it always there? ‘
Surprised Amy turned her hand over and examined the pink rash that zig zagged all the way across her palm, over her knuckles and even in between her fingers.
‘I have to shower with gloves on and it blisters when I touch hot surfaces.’ Amy blushed at her own precision and Demeter catching at the unusual sight of Amy Bolton blushing felt her own cheeks turning red as well.
‘You can be the girl at the foot of the great mountain and I’ll be the falcon…’
And your friend? Requested Amy who had never asked such a question before.
At least until next Friday murmured Demeter eyes glancing once more out of the coach window.
‘Friday is D day then?’ Wet dark wood and rich heavy stews once again.