When war finally reached the borders of Elysia, it was too late. No militia was ready for the power that the army of Valencia held. An army, so powerful, rumors of magic and sorcery surged through the five realms. Stories how a group of five teenage...
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From the moment Colette could stand, she could run. Her mother thought she might scream, always chasing the barefooted baby through the pasture. Once at five, Colette snuck out the back door, wandered down the dirt road, and found herself in the village. It wasn't until the baker's husband, who was quite fond of Madam Dovish, noticed the teetering toddler and brought her home. By the time she was saying full sentences, nobody was safe from her quick witted tongue. And the moment she realized that you gain more momentum in a punch when turning your hips, well, there was no longer a school in the town that would take her.
A local librarian took her in; she figured a new pair of working hands would prolong her health. Not to mention she saw a bit of herself in the girl. To be frank, Mrs.Grenadine was as stubborn as a mule, a trait that only grew with age. She knew better than anyone that the people with the toughest wills were always more smart than they let on.
And so she grew, dusting the shelves and reading her books, sweeping the floor and crunching the numbers. And as she grew, so did her mind.
It was at nineteen she decided it was time to leave home, find a school that would take her even though she was a girl, and make something of herself. Elliot, her neighbor since age 12, thought that (as per usual) she was getting ahead of herself.
You see Elliot knew Colette better than anyone. For them, looking at the other was like looking in a mirror. The pair could talk without ever uttering a word. Both were impulsive, adventurous, and reckless in a way that caused no harm.
Well, to anyone but themselves.
Many days in their youth were spent running through the fields. Elliot would climb trees to throw her down the ripest fruit, and she would gasp every time he'd reach for a frail branch. Elliot was bullish by nature. His curiosity was never satisfied, and it often caused him to jump and tinker in places where others would not. Which was fine when he was small. But once he reached sixteen, he was vastly unaware of his size. He could walk into a room, and anything he touched would be broken within minutes. Once, he broke the barn door because he was convinced he could use it as a stepping stool to get on the roof.
Colette remembers it distinctly. He stared fixated at the old wooden beams with both hands on his hips. Then, without a word, jumped up, grabbed the frame, and pulled himself to the top. And just when he was about to swing himself to the rafter, the creaky door snapped off its hinges. Elliot fell off into the hay, and with a wildfire grin looked up at her and said nothing but, "oops."
But somehow, /she/ was always the one getting hurt. And /he/ always remained spotless. As they grew this tendency for mayhem never died. Friday nights put a spell on them, leaving them both stumbling home from the taverns like fools. The night was drunk off their fun, swaying side to side on the cobblestone road as they laughed.
But every weekend must come to an end, and every child must grow up.
Saturdays are for work, much to their dismay. Colette warned him to start early, and not to push all work until the middle of the day. Even now, she wasn't sure why she thought that would work. He never listened to her advice.
