• "Icealine, you can wait a few more years if your not ready. Just because the gates of opportunity have opened does not mean that you must immediately run through them."

    The girl looked up at her mother and father, both with a hand wrapped around each others backs. Their body language was so calm, but their eyes were full of worry that Ice had only seen very few times. She lowered her gaze onto her new attire, simply clothing that only the poor would wear: rags for a shirt, casual pants, hunting boots- a gift from her father, and the only source of protection being her breast plate. In her hand was her choice of class, an archer bow, with arrows strapped to her back. The teenager figured she looked very strange and unready to her parents- but for her it was a different story. She'd been waiting for this moment for all eighteen years of her life. Even though it was slightly uncomfortable, and she knew she'd miss home, their was a warm glow within her. The young woman couldn't wait to begin her adventure, even if it was deadly.

    "I appreciate your care and love, mama," she murmured softly, raising her eyes to both. "However, I do not believe it is my destiny to wait for feeling assured. The unknowing, the challenge, its all I've ever wanted, just like Issac. You must understand, I am ready."

    They shifted, obviously wishing their daughter to go in a different direction, but nodded understandably. Everyone had to go hunt at sometime, and many could feel the rush of adventure and danger will them forward. It was a parents nightmare- seeing their children run off to die a thousand times- but a child's fantasy. With being a child, even adults understood the craving for bloodshed, and had to give in to that sole wish.

    "Well, take your money at least," her father was a quiet man and when he spoke everyone listened. Icealine nodded, reaching out and wrapping her finger around the bag in her fathers hand. With a tug he released and she quickly wrapped the bag around her waist band. Unfortunately it was obvious to see, but helpful if she was in a sticky situation or found money herself.

    Her mother reached out with her bare, overly worked fingers and tucked a piece of blue hair behind her daughters ears. She was unsure of her, how she'd make it in the game of life or death, but the woman could feel a sense of pride. The little girl she raised was in fact a young woman now and very independent as well.

    "Here's your food, it shall last you three days." The woman dropped her hand and held out a bag of food, on which Icealine retrieved and put on another loop of her belt. Her parents shared a glance, the way she was holding her money and food were unsafe, but they were in fact, poor. Living on a small island surround by others, expensive sellers rarely came, and when they did the family could never afford anyways. They just prayed their daughter would scrap up enough money to store her things better- or at least set up a warehouse.

    The teenager shifted from foot to foot, ready to start the first day of forever. "I believe I must go now, the boat will only stay for an hour," she walked towards her parents, pausing at each to wrap her arms around them and embrace a hug. It was no secret she'd miss her parents-- she was defiantly a daddy's girl-- and the longing of seeing them was already settling in. She'd see them for holidays of course, however, it'd be different when depending soling on yourself and not your parents. She'd miss their wisdom, and guiding advice.

    "Stay safe."

    "Remember to watch your back."

    "We love you, Icealine."

    She smiled, with a nod, "I love you too."

    The conversation died, and with a final look at both her parents, the girl turned and walked down the old dock. Familiar with the seventeen creeks it gave off and exactly where each was. She purposely stepped on all before coming towards the boat, which was small and probably eight feet long and four feet wide. With a small greeting at the rower- a thin, old man with fast eyes, she awkwardly sat in the small thing. Shifting a bit before comfortable and smiling sheepishly over at the rower, who watched her silently.

    "Where too?" The rough voice ask.

    "Twin City."