The fire cracked and leapt across the small thatched roof, devouring bits of straw and dust. A small crowd stood watching the blaze, faces shocked. A recent storm had blown through, with tumultuous lightning which had struck the small home. The straw roof was dry, from months of no rain, and so it had sparked easily. Water gathered in glittering pools on the ground, reflecting the destructive dance of the flames.

The audience was small, merely a group of three. The three were young, two girls and a boy, who appeared to be in their late teenage years. The shortest of the three, a soot-stained creature with fair hair, held a wooden bucket coated in slick mud at her side. It was quickly deemed useless when the only source of water was muddy puddles. “I built this with my bare hands,” said a voice from behind, in a deeper tone. “Correction, our bare hands,” came from the third person, a tall girl with red hair a shade similar to the growing fire. She stood next to their male companion, who spoke up quickly. “We ought to get out of here.” The three turned their backs on their home, walking quickly away lest the fire spread nearer and become a mortal threat. Past the haze of the smoke, the clear air revealed a fairly deep forest. Deciduous trees towered high and the moon waxed full enough for light to illuminate the area well.

The boy’s hair shone glossy, long, and dark. He walked with determination, yet he looked to his companions often for direction. The fair-haired girl was quiet, and sharply aware of her surroundings. She took up the rear and fell in to her usual role of following closely. Ahead, the redheaded girl walked quickly and with confidence. The head of the group was clear, and it is she around which this tale revolves.