'Ello 'ello, people of fanfiction. I'd like to give you a bit of information before you read my newest fancfic, Runaway Ranger.

First and foremost, this story begins after Book Nine of the Ranger's Apprentice Series: Halt's Peril. THERE WILL BE SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN'T GOTTEN THAT FAR YET.

Second and not as foremost, the OC I've put into this story is from another of my fanfictions, but on another account that I lost the password to. I used to be Hannah The Awesome and the old fanfiction was called Ranger In Training. It may or may not still be on this site. Though, in this fanfic, we begin Rowan's story much earlier on in her life, making her really flesh out as a character. I like this one better than Ranger In Training already.

Third and somewhat foremost, comes the DISCLAIMER: I do not own Ranger's Apprentice, but all OCs (Rowan, Aldwin, Garrin of the Écumoire, and any others) and the plot line belong to me. Thank you John Flanagan (I think that's how his name is spelled. . .) for making such amazing characters.

Happy reading!

~N~

Chapter One - A Harsh Childhood

Rowan Peris of the nation of Gallica, east of Araluen, had always had the heart of a wanderer, the eyes of a hawk, and the clever mind of a fox (and the smart mouth to match too, Crowley would say). Of course, when she was but a young girl of ten, these traits were hidden deep within her. She was known only as the fatherless daughter of Mary Peris, a serving maid to a local lord. Rowan's daily duties included washing the laundry, cleaning the floors, beating the drapery, and anything else her fellow serving maids told her to do.

Rowan had been born a bastard baby, her father having no more presence in her and her mother's life than they had wealth. Her mother wished she could have left her daughter on her own as well, and not a day went by that she didn't remind the girl. "You're worthless." Mary would say one day. "You're a waste of good air." Or "You mean less to me than the lord's hunting dogs' fleas."

As was to be expected, Rowan was hurt by her mother's harsh words, but, as she grew, the daily slanders rolled off like water off an otter's fur. She began to harbor more contempt for her mother than ever as the insults got worse. Rowan may have spilled a bucket of mop water and her mother would immediately turn to slap her across the face, screeching "You clumsy little bitch! How dare you?" The girl would accept the punishment from her mother and seethe quietly about it. She developed several bruises from beatings Mary had given her, taking the laundry pole to her thighs or her back. Rowan learned to hate the woman fiercely.

It was the night of her tenth birthday, to be exact, when down came the final straw that broke the horse's back.

Rowan was scrubbing dishes, pots, and pans after the lord's supper that night, calmly watching the steam from the hot water rise in curling fingers past her face. She was lost in thought, thinking about how, one day, she would leave this place and never look back. She'd become a farmer. Or a horse saleswoman. Or anything better than what she was now, which was basically anything else.

It was while she was having these up lifting thoughts that her mother came up behind to so that she could find something to criticize her about. Rowan turned around with a large cooking pot, hot to the touch from the water, and ran into her mother. The woman yelped in surprise as the pot scalded her arm, instantly aiming a backhanded slap to Rowan's cheek. The girl fell backwards from the force of the blow, throwing the pot into the air. The cooking pot smashed right into the face of her mother, causing the woman to scream like a banshee. Mary aimed a booted kick at Rowan, hitting her in the ribs and causing the girl to cry out in pain.

Before her mother got in another hit, however, Rowan rolled to the side, got to her feet with impossible speed, and reached into the cook's knife drawer, drawing out the largest of the blades and pointing the tip at her mother.

The girl's voice was cold. "Take one more step near me, Mother," she threatened, waving the blade so that the bright metal reflected the light. "And I swear I will slit your throat."

"You wouldn't dare." her mother said, but she sounded as if she wasn't sure. "You don't have the guts to kill me, girl. I'm your mother."

Rowan's lower lip trembled, but the hand holding the knife was steady. "No, you're not." she said slowly, as if she were talking to someone of little intelligence. "You have never been my mother. I don't have a mother."

Mary was silent then, shocked at the steely tone of her daughter's voice and the way she didn't held the knife calmly and familiarly. She had no idea that Rowan had practiced with a pair of stolen daggers from the lord's armory for over two years now, perfecting her skills with the weapons should need ever arise to use them. They were packed up in a rucksack hidden out in the woods behind the lord's estate, along with clothes, dried food, three canteens, a sleeping roll, and a small tent. Rowan had been waiting for this day to come, always prepared.

Now, the time for Rowan to leave had come.

The girl kept the knife aimed at her mother, slipping sideways toward the door that led out to the stable yard. "I'm leaving, Mother." she spit the word as if it were poison to her tongue. "You'll not have to see me ever again. I'm never returning to this wretched place, you hear? Never." Rowan placed her hand on the door knob. "I'm going to make something of myself." she said, before she threw the knife straight at her mother. Rowan knew the shot would miss, as she'd aimed a bit high, but the throw served its purpose as Mary ducked to the floor with a startled cry, leaving the girl the chance to sprint from the room and out into the dark.

That was the last time Mary ever saw her daughter.