[center][b][color=ed1c24]Marius[/color][/b][/center]Marius had been writing alongside of the caravan of wagons on his trusty steed, Bucephalus.  Since he was a mounted knight, there was no need for Marius even to think about riding in any of the wagons.  He had his own form of transportation that would get him to wherever he wished.  Marius was just glad that it actually happened to be quite a nice day.  It would have been quite miserable if Marius had to ride exposed to some harsh elements, whether it be rain, snow, or heat, while his companions were comfortably protected by their covered moving shelters.

While riding beside the caravan, Marius noticed someone was hanging off the back of one of the wagons.  Did whoever it was not know that hanging off a moving vehicle like the ones in this caravan could be dangerous?  Perhaps this individual still was under the influence of the alcohol that he (or she) had consumed the night prior (or, god forbid, this morning).  Therefore, Marius decided to investigate in order to inquire who it was.

Marius discovered that the man who was hanging off the edge was Jerod, one of the hardened mercenaries that were accompanying this motley crew that was called the [i]Shepherds[/i].

“Morning, Sir Jerod.”  Marius turned Bucephalus around so that he would be riding along side of the wagon and moving in the same direction.  “What on earth has possessed you to hang off the edge of this wagon?  Surely that Marianne character has not enchanted you into doing so?  Or is there a different perpetrator in this, such as [i]King Beer[/i]?” 

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[center][b][color=FAEBD7]Abra[/color][/b][/center]Abra looked over her former foster mother’s house once last time, checking to ensure that she was not leaving anything behind that she thought that she was either going to need or going to miss if she happened to forget it.  She had spent her whole life in this house.  It was almost heartbreaking that she was about ready to leave it forever.  Even in spite of her fond memories of this place, there was nothing chaining her down in this place anymore, ever since the death of her foster mother, Helike.  Unfortunately, it was just time for Abra to move on to other, and hopefully better, things.

As the floorboards underneath her creaked from the stress placed upon them by her foot, Abra took one last gander at Helike’s bookshelf.  Abra obviously could not bring all the books that populated the shelving unit; all these books would just weigh her down, if she could carry them all in the first place.  After some careful deliberation, Abra pulled out one of the books off the shelf.  The cover of this book was deep red, hinting at the focus on fire enchantments that lay hidden within that book.

However, this was not the only book that drew her attention.  Abra pulled out a second book, this one having a blackish-purple cover, almost like the color of raisins made from Black Corinth grapes.  This was the book that Abra had stumbled upon on the night of her sixteenth birthday.  Something about that book just drew her attention to it.  Was she going to use it?  Of course not, but there was just a little nagging voice inside her head that nodded her to bring it along too.

After making her last round about the house, Abra gathered up her bag and headed toward the door.  Before she left, Abra grabbed a small urn from the fireplace mantle.  Within this miniature container was a fraction of the ashes of her recently-departed foster mother.  The rest of her ashes had been buried in the backyard, with only a small marker that declared that Helike was laid to rest there.  While she considered that bringing along this urn might come off as, well, morbid and grotesque, but at the same time, it almost felt as if her foster mother was still at her side, guiding her on whatever road lies ahead of Abra.

With one last sorrowful tear, Abra departed from her foster mother’s house for the last time.