I believe that I used to live a happy life at one point in time. I vaguely remember watching my mother practicing her fighting skills while I mimicked her every move, or tried to anyway. As soon as I was able to, she used to teach me a little here and there. My father used to put me on his shoulders and take me wherever I wanted to go. He taught me the ways of the S'Kra Mur and our beliefs, along with the ways of other cultures. I was his little princess and he was my loyal servant, or so he said to spoil me further. Yes, a happy life, fitting for a child. But all of that was taken away in a heartbeat.

When I was still very young, a band of humans stormed into my home and snatched me away from my mother and father. In my mind, I can still hear the sound of my parents screaming for me until they were silenced forever. When the bandits took me back to their camp, they branded me with a symbol on my stomach. From that day forward, I was watched like a hawk for some reason beyond me. But strangely enough, I was not denied any necessity of life or luxury I desired.

However, when I expressed an interest in learning to fight, I was denied for the first time. I continually asked, only to be told a very firm no each time. After moping around for some weeks, my nursemaid had arrangements made to send me off to etiquette class... to teach me how to be a proper lady. The nerve of that woman! I was made to pack my things and stay in other quarters closer to my classes, where I would be under watch, as always.

The following morning, I left the quarters for my first class. As I approached the classroom, the guards took their posts to wait until I was dismissed. As I walked in to weapons all around the room, it hit me. The old woman had put her hide on the line to allow me to learn how to fight. And that I did, day after day, just under the noses of the unknowing guards. My nursemaid died peacefully in her sleep some years later, with me by her side.