Faron cracked one eye open. She hadn't really been sleeping to begin with; she'd been far too nervous for that. But all the same, she thought it best to feign sleep in case her father came to check on her throughout the night.
She sat up, combing straw out of her long, coppery hair before racing over to the corner of the shed where her things were hidden. It'd taken multiple tries to sneak it out here, but she'd finally managed. She dug the bag out from under the pile of straw concealing it before slinging it over her shoulder. Then she snatched up the wooden training sword lying on the floor next to where she'd been sleeping, quickly belting it to her side. Tiptoeing over to the door, she opened it and peered out, her heart pounding in her chest as her dark eyes swept her surroundings. A particularly painful bruise from yesterday brushed against the doorframe, making her wince.
The coast was clear. Her father likely wouldn't be waking for several more hours.
Faron darted out from the shed, not even bothering to close the door behind her. Streaking across the dewy turf, she headed for the woods. She'd already decided it'd be best to avoid town since she couldn't risk being recognized and sent back. Sure, she could concoct some story if it came down to it, but it was better not to take the chance at all. She'd use the little food and water she'd stolen from father's supply to get her to the next town over, she'd find someone kind enough to let her rest up in their barn or shed, then she'd steal whatever she needed to replenish her store of edibles and head on to the next town. Afterward, she'd repeat the process, again and again until she was a hundred miles away and her father would have no hope of ever finding her.
Faron stumbled through the forest, a stitch forming in her side. It was a cloudy night, so she didn't have even a lone star to light her way. Of course, she preferred it that way, since a moonless night meant less chance of being seen. And thankfully, she knew these woods fairly well. She remembered how almost every day she and her mother would venture into them to gather flowers. Faron slowed, her lungs heaving. She could still picture her mother's smiling face, the color in her cheeks, the twinkle in her eyes.
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But that brightness had faded once she'd gotten sick. Faron recalled the image her father, desperate, haggard, kneeling next to her mother's bed, their hands clasped together.
He had screamed and begged and pleaded, but she had died all the same. And he'd never been the same again.
Faron hardly felt sorry for him though. He'd become a hateful thing in her eyes. Doubtless, he could've followed his wife to the grave and Faron wouldn't have shed a single tear for him.
No one was going to protect her. So she needed to learn to protect herself.
As soon as she got far enough away, she'd start looking for a blacksmith in need of an apprentice. Of course, it would be difficult to convince them to hire her given her young age; after all, she was hardly twelve. But surely with some persistence, she'd get the position. Then she could forge herself a real sword and begin training with it.
Faron finished catching her breath, then forged ahead once more. She'd do whatever she had to in order to survive for now, and once she renewed her training, there'd be no limits. If it came to the point where she couldn't continue on her own, then she'd find someone to teach her. Perhaps the legendary Gerudo warriors or even the unorthodox self-taught Hylian swordsmen. Anyone who had something of worth to offer her skillset beyond what she already knew would satisfy.
I'll prove you wrong, father. I'll become the greatest swordswoman this kingdom has ever seen.
Faron clenched her fist, having found her second wind, her nervous energy bubbling back up to the surface.
It was undeniable that in the moment she'd made the decision to run, an entirely new sensation had filled her being.
And it made her feel unstoppable.