"Marchwyr ap Maelgan!"

The high poet Casswallawn's pronunciation of his student's name was worse than a slap. Marchwyr tried not to cringe. He could feel the burning welts rising on his skin even though the Ollamh had done nothing more than breathe on him. His tone of voice alone, aimed and delivered with the intent of punishment, was enough to blister his tardy student's cheeks with shame.

And there was more. "You have been absent all day! I won't ask you to explain where you were. Your imagination obviously doesn't need any more exercise than it already had today." The great teacher paused for a few reflective strokes of his beard.

The next words that fell from Casswallawn's mouth inflicted three times the agony of the first ones. "Marchwyr ap Maelgan, to make up for your lack of attendance in today's classes, you will be required to -"