She RanShe ran.
Not that she minded, she was good at it, she had to be. Guards, angry shopkeepers, or even her own Mother, she was always running from someone.
With a tiny loaf of bread clutched tightly in her hand, she ran. The crowded cobblestone roads made running difficult, at least for someone unexperienced. She had done this all her life, and never once was she caught. She liked to say it’s all skill and experience. But her small, agile body gave her an advantage that she took for granted. And her dark green hooded cloak left her face only just unrecognisable. She’d become a sort of icon, called the Flee. Known as a legend or a tyrant, depending on who you asked. For most, it’s the latter.
“Thief! It’s the Flee! Stop her!” The noise of the crowds was cut by the cry and guards all round snapped from their daze and blasted into action at the chance to catch the infamous ‘Flee’.