The funeral was a short one. Ash wore his best green tunic, polished boots and the sword he and his father had forged together. Ice wore a long black dress, adorned with fire on the hem and a star above her heart. Ash, for the sake of his sister, kept his composure and his tail high, though he could not look at her, or anybody for that matter. His sister followed his example and kept her tears back and head high, though she still shed tears. Once the priest had finished his sermon above the golden coffin, Ash stepped forward and placed a helmet and gauntlet upon his father to protect him from at least some of the ravages of time.
Once they were home, they both went to their individual rooms, dreary eyed. Both of them were deeply saddened, but they both felt a need for something more than crying. They wanted revenge.
Ash donned his armor, sheathing his sword and a simple wooden shield on his back, packing a journal, a bottle of fruit juice, and 2 other empty bottles to store any important specimens to his adventure. Ice pulled a purple robe over her head, grabbing her quiver, bow, her book of edible plants, and a box of equipment that could be used to restore a bow or arrow if she happened to lose or break one.
Both children, ages 15 and 12, stepped out of their rooms in unison. Neither needed to speak, from simply observing the equipment they both had they knew they had the same idea. For once, neither felt the need to criticize the other. Anger clouding their minds, the walked out the door, together, prepared for anything.
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