I was young.
I still knew my mind.
He’d left me.
A quest or something.
He came back to fanfare.
Everyone was running to see him.
I didn’t.
He came into my family’s house.
For my brother, his friend, was his excuse.
He was looking for me.
I knew it, he knew it, my best friend knew it.
He came in the doorway.
I brushed past him, calling over my shoulder to my family that I would be back.
Like he was a rat I was stepping over.
Left him with my scent of silken tents -
Petty but I wanted him to remember.
I didn’t run.
I didn’t run until I was out of sight.
Then I crawled into an open window of a house and went to the attic.
Head out the window.
Whisper yelling to my friend to go to my room and get my journal,
some food, some water, some underwear.
Days or hours later,
They attacked.
Purple magic sealing doors.
No sounds of battle. Strange.
Silence: people fighting, people shielding, people swinging…
In more ways than one.
Battles are what I do.
Jumping out attic windows, not as much.
We met in front of the massive door,
coated in purple and symbols and reeking of not good.
Him with his two handed sword.
Me with my hands.
He knows I’m the stronger of us.
I’m elegant solution to his brute force.
I tear away the barrier with a raise of my arms.
We’re in this together.
