Malta's teacher was an old Peisio khehora, large and long and lean and brown like the desert lizards he hung on one of the walls of his hut. He was an apothecary, at least that was the title he preferred, and he made various medicines and ointments and potions for the settlement. He was grumpy and not very nice generally, but he had been kind and a good teacher to Malta. She liked him. She always had, even when she had been a newly hatched khehora. She'd especially always liked how he smelled – like water and herbs and earth, all mixed together over fire. It was a calming smell, and it helped her stay focused and not-panicked, even when he worked her hard.
He was kind, but tough, and she loved him for it.
She came in the morning to start her training for that day, a bounce in her step, tapping a claw on the glass decoration on the inside of the entrance to his hut, making it chime. “Hello!” she said. He jumped, a small explosion bursting from the mixture he had been working with as he turned, snarling, to her.
“Runtling! Didn't I tell you not to sneak up on me like that?! Look what you've done!” he snapped, before shaking ash off of his head and turning back, giving her a sidelong, cranky look. “Well, now that your here, finish getting your tail over and help me with this.” he grumbled, grudgingly, “I need another set of claws.”
Malta cheerfully walked in amidst the debris. For some reason, he didn't scare her. Of all people, for all his attitude, her teacher did not scare her. She went over to the desk and sniffed at the remains of his concoction. She tilted her head. “Why did you put black powder in if you were going to put sparkweed in?”
He glared at her. “Because I could. Thats why.” She could tell he was proud of her for figuring it out. She could tell, even though he didn't say it. He never did. He never had to. “Now help me collect this ash, and then go grind these herbs.” he nudged several bowls of leaves and chunks of roots at her, “And if you're a really good brat, I might even let you see how to make the potion liquids.” Malta's tail wiggled almost of its own accord. Potions! She loved learning potions. She loved everything this khehora had to teach! “Now get to it.” he snapped, “I don't have all day.”
“Okay!” she said cheerfully, beginning to clean up the ashes.
~~~
Grinding herbs was a game. You either used the top of your claw and pressed hard, or you put on the special claw cap, or you put a stone rod in your pawpad and pressed hard into the herbs in their stone bowls. Either way, you crushed them into powder, turning unusable leaves into rich pastes and then into magical potions that did so much more than the sum of their parts. Even more when Malta enhanced them with her magic.
The game part was not just how she crushed them, but also her ability to name them. She knew her teacher was pleased whenever she got an herb's name right, and was quick to correct her when she didn't. He quizzed her often on their properties.
She loved it.
When she finished grinding the herbs, she watched him make the potions, as he commented grouchily about each one. Such as how, if that gaili pair needed fertility potions so badly, they could just go find alternate mates, or how it was ridiculous that some khehora hated their own markings so much that they needed to put magic mud on them, or how Akoroi was an a*****e who should try making his own exploding potions and see how that went.
Eventually, though, the light that shone through the holes in the hut dimmed to red, and the glowing, magic-etched glass pendant that hung from the roof became the main light source. It was getting late.
“I suppose thats it for today.” he said, muttering, “Go get yourself home, runtling.”
Malta gave him a brief snuggle goodbye before bounding out the entrance...
Malta 
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