Almaia was 12 when her magic first appeared.
It was a simple thing, really. She got mad at the small garden she was tending, as it didn't really produce anything. In the middle of something between an angry rant and an ugly cry, she slammed her fists against the ground and begged the turnips she was trying to grow to grow.
The next morning, they had fully ripened.
On another world, in a different time, such an ability would surely be lauded, for there were few worlds in all the spheres where food was so plentiful that none knew of hunger.
On Aryth, however, Almaia knew that this was a death sentence.
She kept quiet and prowled out of the house in the middle of the night to take her turnips and bury them in the compost heap. She then crept back into bed and thought for the first time about her future.
After spending the night deliberating, she decided on a course of action: she would make it seem as though she was taken by a passing legate. She knew that such things would never be questioned by her parents, who would quietly mourn her.
The next harvest day was 2 days hence, when farmers would take their goods into town to trade for what they might need.
Almaia feigned a cold to get out of going, and convinced her parents that she would stay in bed and sleep her illness off. It broke her young heart, but she knew it had to be done.
As soon as her parents wagon was out of earshot, she sprung from her bed, grabbed a small amount of food and scattered more about the kitchen, and then made a small cut on herself and the drag marks across the floor in the spilled flour and out the door. Finally, she took a spare pair of her father's boots and made footprints, then washed the soles off in the well water before retrieving her father's axe and using it to bash down the door.
When the door was shattered, she replaced the axe, secured her small bundle, and fled into the small copse of trees near her house, being careful to leave no tracks that indicated her path.
After several hours of careful movement, she found herself secure in the trees as night fell. She slept the first night in the hollow of a large tree.
The next few days were mainly spent moving further into the woods in something like a daze; in her mind, she felt like she must get to the land of the Elves, which she believed was the only place that would keep her safe.
It was on the fourth day that the massive wolf found her. She froze as it walked silently into the glade she was contemplating how to cross, but it was to no avail. She picked up a stick to defend herself when it stopped, and spoke to her.
It. Spoke. To. Her.
Manchild. it said I have felt your coming and know your ways. You have done that which you must to survive, but your heart may not survive the damage that you dealt it.
So enraptured was she that she didn't notice it's approach until it was next to her. It was too hard to see through the tears that streamed from her eyes. She did not see or even notice the wolf gently pick her up and set her on it's back, such was her sorrow.
As is the way of things, eventually her tears dried, and she noticed she lay upon the creature's back as it sped across open plains.
Wiping her face, she said meekly "Where are you taking me?"
To one who will set your feet upon the path, and who I consider friend.
It wasn't much longer that the wolf strode into the middle of a camp of Halflings, and Almaia slid from his shoulder. A horde of Halfling children ran towards the creature, who greeted each and played with them.
Almaia's feet moved of their own volition; her mind still too numb to process everything that had happened and was indeed still happening.
Before she knew it, she stood just inside the threshold of a small tent, nearly standing as tall as the frame itself.
"Now then dear, let's get a look at you." came the voice from the kitchen, and a Halfling that could have easily been her grandmother if she was Human sized came around the corner.
"Well, that won't do at all. No it will not. You're all skin an bones. Sit, and we'll get some food in you."
At her words, Almaia's stomach informed her that food sounded wonderful.
As she feed the girl, the elderly Halfling learned her name, what she had done, and that she had magic.
"You're a Channeler, dear heart. You were born with a connection to Aryth, and the mana that is it's lifeblood." The Halfling, whose name was Rita, continued: "This means that you will have a beautiful life of true pain; beautiful, because you will see more of Aryth's beauty than any but those of your calling, and pain because of those who would hunt you for what you are."
Almaia nodded somberly, still trying to take in everything.
"Now now, little one, nothing is certain, and fretting over what MAY come is the surest way I know to make it what WILL come."
"You must learn to control and harness your magic, or others will turn you from your path towards a darker one."
So began Almaia's tutelage among the Nomadic Halflings.
Several years passed in quick succession, and Almaia was finally ready to head out into the world, with a purpose and a destination in mind: She would join the rebels. She knew that she would never have a normal life like the one that she had before, but she also knew that those who served the shadow would never stop hunting her, so all the better to stand with those who opposed darkness.
