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      The small, hooded figure scrambled quietly from boulder to boulder. The night had fallen swiftly, and Merelle cursed herself for not having thought to bring a light. Already the stars had moved along their nightly path, and the moon, she knew, would rise soon enough. Darkness would serve as her shroud and her hindrance, she decided, and she would just have to deal with it for a bit longer.
      Anxious thoughts darted through her mind as she continued her trek along the rocky landscape. How long would it be before they discovered her missing? Would they even care that she had gone? Surely the youngest daughter of a father of twelve children, and a misfit at that, would not be truly mourned. Really, she had done this as much for them as herself. Hadn’t she?
      Merelle slowed, suddenly aware of her own gasping breaths and pounding heart. With a sigh she lowered herself to the ground, and took inventory of what she had hastily gathered before fleeing. A small dirk, two waterskins, a bedroll, an extra blanket, and several muffins she had snatched from the kitchen on her way out almost filled the bag she wore on her back. Her hand went to the dagger she wore at her hip, then to the pouch of coins on her belt. Not as much as she would have liked, but definitely better than nothing. She was dressed warmly despite the mild spring evening—in fact, with the cloak she wore, she was almost too hot. She shook her head and sighed, fanning herself with her shirt. No doubt she would appreciate the added warmth in days to come.
      She looked again at the sky. It was becoming lighter already, nearly moonrise. She stood and stretched, contemplating her plan. She smiled grimly. What plan? In anger she had done what she had been threatening to do for months. Yet, in all that time, never had she really taken the threats seriously—as, she supposed, the rest of the family had not. Shifting the pack on her shoulders, she started off again. Better to get to the cover of the woods first, plan later, she concluded.
      The ground, which had been vaguely sloping downward, began to decline more steeply. Now more than ever did she appreciate the time she had played here as a child—even with the darkness, she still maneuvered over the landscape with the agility and swiftness of a cat. Few could have kept pace with her, even at high noon. Evidently, while being lady-like had its advantages, this was one area where it did not. Merelle shook her head to clear the thought. This was where she belonged: out in the open country, having adventures, not tied down to a husband, playing at court and having babies.
      An angry tear escaped her eye and rushed down her cheek. Why did it all have to be so unfair! Her brothers all got to go off and have adventures. At the very least they could travel to other towns unchaperoned. Somehow, her sisters were all satisfied with sitting at home and learning how to run a household and do needlepoint. She had tried to happy with it, too. But she always found herself staring longingly out at the wilds beyond the courtyard rather than focusing on her needlework, which inevitably led to a pricked finger or a scolding from her mother about a botched job, or, if she was lucky, both.
      Merelle set her jaw grimly. That was over. She was all for herself now, and would never pick up another needle unless it was to mend her own clothes. From now on, she was Maren, the youngest son of a little-known family who had set out to discover his fortunes and find adventure. If she had to live as a boy to realize the life she yearned, so be it. Unlearning to be a girl wouldn’t be terribly difficult; she’d always been bad at it, anyway.
      The moon was just beginning to peek over the horizon as she approached the forest. This is it, she thought. Hardening Forest marked the end of her family’s holdings—once she left, she wasn’t at all sure she would be welcomed back. Merelle glanced back toward what she had always considered to be home, and wondered if she would ever see this place again. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and turned back to the dense trees. This is it, she repeated to herself. The moon at her back, she slipped into the shadows of the trees.
      It took her eyes only a few moments to accustom themselves to the darkness of the wood. It was the closeness of the sounds that took her more time. The stirring of small animals echoed off the trees, magnifying them until they sounded as if something large was ransacking the undergrowth. Merelle stood still and silent, listening. She had spent almost as much time in this forest as she had in the hillside, though not at night. Slowly, she began to identify each noise, calming herself as she did so. Dawn would be coming soon, she told herself as she resumed walking. She wanted to be past the Maylor River before she slept, to lose the dogs if they were sent after her.

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Merelle was awakened by the screech of a hawk as it flew overhead. The sun had just begun its decent, and her stomach was growling. She stretched her tired limbs, then rummaged through her pack for the muffins she had brought. Despite her desire to wolf down all three, she managed to stop herself after several bites. Better to go a little hungry now than starve later, she reasoned. She had made it to the edge of the forest the night before, and had slept soundly in the shade of one of the trees. Her trek in the river had exhausted her—once she hit the river, she had followed it south, stumbling along the river bed, until it had turned back east, toward home. She hoped that the dampness she had endured would throw the dogs off her trail. She wasn’t even sure that anyone would care about her disappearance, or that the dogs would be dispatched to aid in a search if there was one. But she had gone through too much to be caught now that she had made up her mind.
      As she repacked her bag, she reflected on the happenings of the night before. She had denied yet another of her fathers chosen suitors. She had been blatently rude to him, but only because she felt he wouldn’t notice it—the boy was a clod with less brains than a pile of manure. As soon as he had left, her mother had scolded her sternly, saying that she must behave as a proper young lady, and not be rude or curt, no matter how she felt about him. Her father had not been so forgiving. He had declared that she was not a proper young lady, that she had acted more like a miscreant than a child of his loins.
      While she had tried to be civil throughout the night, this chastising sent her into a rage. She had tried to point out that she wasn’t interested in some weasely little boy that not even the priesthood would accept. She even went so far as to say that she wished they would just give her the dowry so that she could live off it in a way that would please her. Even now, Merelle grimaced at that. While it was a good thought, her timing had not been the best, and her father had not taken it well. Of course, his retort was what had driven her to leave. “You will be wed by your next birthday, or so help me I will send you to a convent!”
      Merelle snorted at that thought. She would drown herself before being committed to that kind of jail. What torture, to have to be silent and pious all the time. That threat remembered, she shouldered her pack and resumed her journey.
      It was a long day of walking. She was heading south towards Faerrun, a crossroads town close to the border of Lothlund and Keriun. Merrelle was a bit worried about leaving Lothlund—she’d never left its boundaries—but also figured that the chances of her family searching for her in Keriun were slim. Of many things she was unsure, but she did know that she did not want to be found. If she returned home, it would be because she wanted to, not because she was forced. With each step she grew more certain that she had made the right choice. She had been a thorn in their side as much as they had been in hers.
      She stopped to rest at sunset, eating the other half of the muffin she had when she awoke, and stretched a bit while she waited for moonrise. She knew that she should probably rest, but since her day had begun so late, and because she was antsy to get Faerrun, she wanted to get as much travel in before setting up camp.
      When the moon did rise, it was nearly full, and unlike the night before, she was appreciative of it. The terrain was fairly mild, a hilly grassland dotted by small bushes and the occasional tree. She was glad she had thought to bring the two waterskins with her: the weight was not nearly as annoying as the thirst would have been to endure.
      As the night wore on, Merelle began to wonder how she would find Faerrun. She had known it was south, but more than that she really had no idea. She hadn’t seen so much as a game trail during the day, and while the moon was bright, its light failed to yield what she had missed durring the day. Suddenly, it seemed to her that “south” was very vague, indeed. So, though the moon was scarcely half way through its trek across the sky, she opted to make camp, and see if she would have any luck finding a road of some sort in the morning. Tucking herself and her few belongs under a large bush, Merelle surrendered herself to her exhaustion, and slept.
      The next day dawned clear, bright, and cool. The sleep had cleared her head some, and the conclusion she had come to was to find the tallest lookout she could, be it hill or tree, climb it, and see what she could find in the form of direction or path. After a bit of walking, a tree offered itself as a perch. Or rather, Merelle nominated it. The thing was less sturdy than it appeared, however, and half way up she discovered that the thing would not be able to hold her weight much higher up. Frustrated, sticky, and hot, she decided to take a few minutes in the tree’s shade, such as it was. As she took a sip from her water skin, she suddenly noticed a thin tendril of smoke, far to the southeast. Smoke like that could only come from a chimney, and a chimney meant civilization. Perhaps it would even yield to her information as to how to get to Faerrun. Quickly packing her bag, Merelle set off at a quicker pace than she had gone before, determined to succeed at the madness she had thrown herself into.
      The tendril of smoke disappeared around midday, and it felt as if she hadn’t gotten much closer to it than she had been when she noticed it. Hard to tell, with smoke. She knew its general direction, though, and so continued on her path. It wasn’t much past dinner when she started to see signs of civilization: an old field on its off season, a trail for herd animals. Excitement grew to anxiety though, as she realized that this would be her first test. Would she be able to pass as a boy? Doubt began to creep into her mind.
      She was startled out of her thoughts by the screech of a small child, followed by the bleating of a goat and laughter. As she arrived at the top of the hill she had been climbing, she saw a small clustering of buildings, nestled in a valley between several low hills. A girl of about twelve was sitting on a fence post as a toddler scurried about, terrorizing several animals which were being kept there. As Merelle watched, the child stopped chasing one of the smaller goats, and began pursuit of a chicken. It wasn’t long before the child noticed her, and stopped. The girl turned to look, also, and when she saw the child’s subject of interest, she scrambled off the fence, grabbed the toddler, and hurried into the closest of the buildings. Merelle sighed, adjusted her pack, and tried to look as a much a young man as she could as she made her way down toward the settlement.
      She was nearly to the door when a man in his forties appeared in the doorway. He paused in its frame, looking at her. After a moment, he moved toward her, meeting her in the middle of the small courtyard.
      “Hello,” she said. “I hope I have not startled you, I am merely passing through. I had hoped that you might be able to give me a clearer direction, though, as to where Faerrun is.”
      The man crossed his arms, looking down at her. “Faerrun. It is about 2 days walk from here. Southwest a bit.” He paused. “If you care to wait until tomorrow, I can point out a road for you to follow. I pass it each day on my way to water the sheep.”
      Merelle nodded. “I would be in your debt. My name is Maren.”
      “Trendel,” the man responded.
      Trendel, as it turned out, had a daughter, Saera who was eleven, and a son, Tucker, who had just turned three. His wife, Kerr, was out back finishing the dishes. Tucker took an instant liking to Merelle, much to her surprise. As she talked with the rest of the family, Tucker edged closer and closer to her. By the time it was time to go to bed, he had fallen asleep in her lap.
      Kerr laughed as she she scooped him up. “You’ll have to excuse him,” she sighed. “His older brother, Geoff, died last year. I think he is just happy to have a younger man around.”
      Silently bobbing her head in acknowledgement, she followed Trendel out to the barn. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she said. “It will be nice to have a roof over my head again.”
      Trendel looked at her silently for a moment before nodding his head. “It is no problem. I will come wake you when it is time to break fast. Good night.” Leaving her the lantern, he ducked out of the door before she could reply.

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