The children were not at school. They had better, bolder, brighter things to be doing. The teachers didn't notice. They never did.
They ran out while at break, amidst the confusion of supposed bruises and teases and stolen lunches. The gates were easy enough to get past. Each girl's hair was neatly done up with a hairpin, after all.
The sky was bluer once they got out, it seemed. So they ran, ran hard, ran free, ran wild. They quickly enough leaped through the confines of urbanity and into spaces never explored before, wild forests filled with strange creatures. Each of them they defeated in turn, each dragon subdued and each serpent's thirst quenched. They tied the tongue of the sphinx up into a neat little knot when she couldn't answer their riddle.
They went for leagues and leagues in this fashion, running and running and leaping and dancing. They saw no adults. They were past their realm, far past it. And each cried when they wanted to, shouted out loud when they felt like, ate with their hands and looked at the stars glittering so bright for as long as they wanted.
I suppose it was to be expected, though, in the end. They grew older. It was a gradual growing, but imminent enough that the children were no longer children. They grew, hair long and wild, clothes torn and ripped beyond memory.
One day, the city officials recorded a strange appearance of a bedraggled group of Savages. It appeared that they Screamed and Shouted and Disobeyed all Etiquette.