-Shaolee-

Below is an excerpt story written by my sister's friend. She's my sister's age and a very promising [shall I say] writer. I requested her to write something where the main character goes by my name along with some attributes I myself lack and would've liked to have. Her [let's call her V] other stuff are pretty good, better than this piece. However, it's probably best not to compare. Oh, yes, the title of the short story in 'Shaolee'.

Chapter I: Garnet

The sky was a nice pale blue, wispy grey clouds drawn across it. The sun beat down with a hot glare, showering the land with bright vivid sun shine. There was a cool gentle breeze.

A nineteen year old girl strolled casually towards the growing crops on a peasants farm. She was quite tall and pale, her long wavy dark brown hair held up with many small pins and fell in down loosely in curls. She had a delicate nose, a pointed chin and determined brown eyes. She wore a long blue dress that fell to her ankles, with puffy sleeves and lacy hems.

A girl on the crops of growing wheat, shovel in hand, looked up sharply at the sound of footsteps. She smiled as she recognised the girl that had just walked onto the farmland.

“Shaolee!” cried the girl with delight, “So you did come after all.”

Shaolee grinned, and answered, “I was meant to be gathering the eggs on the farm, but I slipped out of duty. I suppose you can call it that, eh Garnet?” She ignored the voice in her head, which told her that she should stop lying and tell Garnet her real origins.

“You mean you abandoned your duties,” said Garnet, flashing pearly white teeth. Garnet pulled the shovel from the earth and leaned airily on it, “Want to help? I have to finish this by dusk.” She glanced at the gleaming sun, but not directly. Garnet picked up a shovel and threw it at Shaolee.

Shaolee picked the shovel up deftly, and walked over to Garnet. A sound stopped her in her tracks, a trumpeting horn of the tax collector. Shaolee froze, a look of terror on her face.

“What’s wrong?” asked Garnet in concern, as she noticed Shaolee’s stiff behavior.

“The taxpayer,” whispered Shaolee, her heart beating reasonably faster.

“What about the tax collector?” replied Garnet.

Shaolee turned and ran, hitching up her skirts, yelling over her shoulder, “I’ll tell you tomorrow, Garnet!” The horn of the tax collector began blowing behind her, and squeaked to a stop suddenly, with the taxpayer shouting with surprise, “Lady Shaolee! What are you doing here?”

Shaolee ignored him, tearing through the thick forests, branches scrapping against her knees and cheeks, ripping through her skirts. She stumbled and fell into a puddle of mud. Wearily she gathered herself up and ran, in desperation to arrive back to the capital of the fiefdom before the tax collector.