Farha ran. Darting between pedestrians and wagons laden with supplies, she glanced over her shoulder. Barreling around the last corner, two guardsmen were in pursuit. Surprised that they were keeping up despite their heavier frames, not to mention their armor and weapons, she considered her options.

"Don't want to make it too easy" She thought. Looking ahead, she could see quite a few people milling about the storefronts. Much more concerning were the handful of guards glancing up at the commotion she carried in her wake. With no time to waste, she flew down a side street, leather shoes barely maintaining grip as she turned from the main thoroughfare.

Clean and well maintained cobblestone turned to packed earth in the alleyway. Doing her best to dodge the muck, which blended with the shadows, she launched out the other side into the residential district. The harsh light nearly caused her to blindly collide with a mother carrying a large basket of laundry. Ignoring the insults hurled at her back, she pressed on.

Unfortunately for Farha, the shouting once again directed her pursuers. By this point, she could feel a slight stitch in her side, sapping her focus and energy. Buildings blurred past as she pressed on, each one nearly identical. Forcing herself to maintain her reckless pace, she turned towards an inn two streets over.

Once it was in view, she sprinted towards the stables around back. Glancing back once more, there were no guards in sight. Relieved, but with no time to spare, she crashed into the back of the stable, abruptly halting her momentum. She frantically clambered up a stack of hay before collapsing on the stable roof. Gasping for air, she tried to listen for any sounds of discovery but couldn't make out much over the pounding of her heart.

Time passed all too slowly. What felt like minutes later, Farha dared to raise her head above the roofline. Instantly, her eyes locked onto gleaming helmets mere feet away. As carefully as her aching muscles could bear, she lowered her head back down. Did the guardsmen passing below catch sight of her? Should she just bolt away? Her thoughts ran in every direction, leaving her at an impasse.

Finally letting out a breath, she relaxed against the rough thatch underneath her. She waited twice as long this time before stirring from her sanctuary. The sun was just reaching the top of the city walls by the time she made it back home.

Farha slipped past the guards, obliviously watching the horizon as usual, and crept towards the storeroom. Dodging the torchlight as best she could, she managed to move from shadow to shadow without being seen. Wincing at the creaking door, she stepped inside, finally safe from pursuit.

"Is that seven or eight?" She thought to herself. Reaching into the coin pouch still secured on her waist, she drew out the coins. The fading light reflected off the silver surface, causing her to squint. Counted out in her hand, it was indeed eight.

Subconsciously smiling to herself, she dumped them back inside and tossed the pouch into the corner. Quickly changing to yet another set of clothes, Farha was finally ready to face the next fray.

The house proper consisted of a kitchen, servants' quarters, and the personal living spaces. While Farha had her own bedroom, or rather, collection of rooms, it still provided little privacy. With maids bursting in at all hours of the day and tutors hunting her down constantly, it was less than Farha's ideal atmosphere, to put it mildly. Steeling herself for the contained chaos, she crossed the training yard and entered through a side door.

A wave of sound struck her first. Crackling fires, orders being called out and thuds of knives hitting cutting boards filled the hallway. Faint, yet ever present, the general hum of a fully functioning manor chased any thought of silence into oblivion. Taking a moment to let her eyes adjust to the flickering light currently blinding her, Farha consciously chose to relax her tense muscles.

Despite the chaotic hubbub, she felt truly at home once more. The stone beneath her feet was cold this close to the exterior, but as stepped towards the kitchens, it quickly began to warm. Nearby, a bench was placed beside a basin which was fed via a track carved into the wall. Pressing down a small lever nearby, the water flowed down, washing the grime off her feet.

Only once had she seen the origin of the water during one of her escapades. All that she was able to find was a large orb resting deep below the surface at the bottom of a cistern. The water seemingly flowed from it or from some other inlet she was unable to locate. When she had asked what it was, she was simply scolded for poking her nose where it didn't belong. Regardless of where it originated from, the crystal clear water soothed her sore legs and dissolved the last of the stubborn dirt.

She moved past the kitchen area and through a couple of corridors before finally arriving at her room. Steaming chicken, paired with a generous helping of roasted vegetables, rested tantalizing on a nearby table. Two maids passed by in a rush. Farha scarfing down her meal still resulted in a withering look from one, which was quickly turned on her assistant. That one’s chuckle was choked off but did not repeal the scathing lecture. Though they were already around the corner, the echoes of the verbal tirade rang out, loud and clear.

Heedless of all else, Farha quickly satiated her voracious hunger. Aware once more of her surroundings, she noticed a young servant waiting patiently a few steps away. Meeting her gaze, the maid gave a timid smile.

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"Your father has requested your presence."

Farha dismissed her with a resigned nod. Elbows rested on the table, she let her weary head fall into her hands. "Of course he does." She thought. Grimacing, she met her reflection in a nearby mirror. Face streaked with grime and sweat, she certainly didn't look the part of the daughter of the second most powerful man in the city. Impulsively, she began to untangle her hair. Catching herself, she slapped the table and shot out of her seat.

Head held high, Farha strode down the hall and around a corner. Without pause, she threw open the door and strode in. Her father's study was not opulent; although, the butchers and masons on Eldred Street would disagree. Styled in earthy tones, the fireplace and crimson chairs at the desk caught the eye. The desk itself was dark mahogany and rested imposingly in the center of the room. Almost as imposing as the man behind it.

Latol, Farha's father, had a large presence about him despite being seated. The Second Councilman was equally taller and broader than average, even among the guardsmen. His beard, only just beginning to gray, framed his square features. However, his eyes caught your attention before all else. They flashed with an unseen fire when he was composed and practically burned down anything in sight if someone garnered his ire.

The latter met Farha as she entered the room. She stood a couple of paces back from the desk and stared over Latol’s right shoulder.

"You sent for me." Her stiff posture matched her tone, still echoing around the room.

"Indeed." Latol studied several open letters on the desk before him. Carefully stacking all but one of them to the side, he looked up, taking in Farha's haphazard appearance.

"Playing in the streets again are we?"

Farha continued staring, her eyes tracing the intricate carvings on the wall behind him.

Frowning, he continued on with a bit more steeliness in his voice. "How many times must I explain to you how disgraceful it is for one of our standing to be seen running about the city like a common urchin?"

Finally locking eyes with her father, Farha ventured a response. "My instructor has been telling me I need to improve my speed and balance."

Latol raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?" He gestured to the letter resting on the desk in front of him. "He also says your fighting style is still too crude. Throwing hidden daggers? Really?"

Farha attempted to respond but a raised finger silenced her.

"You must abide by the accords. They are all that holds duels back from devolving into primitive brawls. The art and skill shown by fighting honorably is crucial in maintaining the image of our house." He sighed, resting his hands on the desk. "You know this! You’ve had them memorized since before you could walk, yet you still insist on these underhanded attacks."

"If I see an opening, shall I simply ignore it? These duels are still a dangerous conflict between the participants whether they strike with honor or not" She flung her words out, almost as recklessly as the dagger in question.

"If a merchant is selling some item of great value, should I simply send someone to kill him and steal it for me? How much more respect is gained by meeting him in his place of business and negotiating a low price by skill and intellect?" Seeing her blank look, he shook his head and slid the letter aside. "Do you still not see? I know you're not as strong as the other noble's sons. But you have had a better instructor than most."

Farha's shoulders slumped, her heart sinking. She chose to let the heat within burn brightly and clenched her fists. "You don't think I know that I'm weaker? You're the one insisting I have to simply stand there and exchange blows until I'm bleeding on the ground or my opponent gives up from boredom. When I'm lying in the dirt breathing my last, I'm sure I'll be at peace knowing I died honorably."

She spit the last word out and regained her ramrod-straight posture. Latol rubbed at his temples, looking down. Several tense moments, for Farha, passed in silence. The room was so still Farha could hear the crackling of logs in a fireplace several rooms away. Her father's deep inhale brought her full attention back to the formidable desk.

"Tomorrow you are being sent to the Arsteem training grounds for the foreseeable future. Perhaps a new environment will aid in curbing your actions."

In absolute shock, Farha tried to form some objection but Latol continued on.

"Your instructor, along with a couple guards, will be traveling and staying with you until you return. Several other experts in a variety of dueling techniques as well as etiquette will be there with the army. Many of your peers will be present so I expect you to act with the dignity of your station. No more playing in the mud."

"But father I wi-"

Cutting her off, Latol’s tone took on a dreadfully familiar tone.

"Listen to me Farha! Your indulgences have gone on long enough. It's time for you to grow up and take your place as a scion of the Helasoun name."

Farha's entire world shattered and littered the floor around her. A myriad of thoughts raced through her mind as she tried to sort through how much her future had changed in an instant. Gone were any visions of happiness, let alone peace. As her dreams and even hope itself shriveled up inside her, anger laced with fear took its place. Eyes flashing, she turned away and threw one last parting shot over her shoulder.

"If I had one wish, it would be for me to have never been your daughter."

The slamming of the door punctuated her exit, a tiny cloud of dust falling to the floor in her wake. If she had said her piece to Latol's face or even glanced back once, she would have seen the wound her words caused. Alas, her pulse thrumming in her head and the thudding of her feet hitting the stone floor drowned out the quiet murmur from her father as she dashed back to the safety of her room, one last time.

"This is the best I know to do. May that you one day forgive me."