Eyrekra gathered the last of the things she would need before heading out to find the Witch. A small metal pot, two wool blankets, and a half pound of dried meat. Eyrekra only packed one change of clothes to lighten her load.
Celia, and Agenta (Eyrekra's mother and grandmother), headed South for Rimmerhold a few flickers before sunrise.
Eyrekra cursed her mother, as she finished packing the last of her items. Her mother had let her sleep late, so late that she was going to be stating out two full marks after sunrise.
She stood outside breathing in the clean, crisp, air, and setting her sights on Sjovolkor.
The air smelled sweeter today, it smelled like freedom. Freedom from four yahrens of constant training. Freedom from four yahrens of her mother's constant criticism. Freedom from four yahrens of her grandmother's constant interference, and advice. Mostly freedom from that cold, cramped, and crummy little hut.
Eyrekra turned around to look at the hunting hut. With a single tear on her cheek, and a heavy sigh, Eyrekra turned North to face her destiny, fully knowing that she was going to miss that cold,cramped, and crummy little hut.
Cold is the heart.
Clear is the mind.
Steady is the "Hand" of the Ice Queen.