Iggy became Ignacio when his father died.

  His dreams of tending to farmland died, when he realized as the 6th child, he'd basically inherit nothing.

  His parent's death marked the beginning of his adulthood, his older brothers packed his bag, giving him a few weeks worth of food, their grandfather's blade and shield, and Honey, the family horse, who was long retired from the more strenuous farmhouse tasks.

  He didn't know what to do. His siblings had seen him off with some fanfare along with the rest of the villagers, who congratulated him on pursuing his dreams. He felt more like he was being pushed out the nest. The city typically attracted those with dreams to make and provided dreams to those without. And that is the direction in which he walked.

  He didn't need to look where he was going. He closed his eyes and started to meditate as he walked. His palm rested onto Honey’s shoulder as she trotted along. She walked along the path that she had walked what felt like a hundred times. She knew that this was the last time they would walk down this path. She felt excited and the bags strung across her back felt like it was nothing. She had an extra bounce to her step, she walked with determination and purpose.

  Igazio started his meditation. He closed his eyes and his feet moved in cadence with Holly, who matched her canter with the young man's. He started with his hands. He wanted to feel his body from the inside out. His nerves and synapses firing as he imagined his body from his fingers to his toes.

  In the darkness, he could see a block of wood, and as he went through the meditation exercise, wood flakes would fall off revealing his human form.

  His rough palm pressed up against the warm body of the horse, he felt her muscles, old yet sturdy, she felt slightly damp as she worked up a sweat in her enthusiasm.

  His wrists still ached from his practice with the blunt blade that bounced off the logs and stray men he had set up in the field.

  The straps of his bag cut into his shoulder. Beads of sweat clung to his neck. The shirt clung to his farmer’s body and his sword hung awkwardly on his waist.

  It went down to his toes, he felt his toes rub up against the soles of his shoes.

  He saw the wooden figure stand in front of him - in the dark, and he looked at himself - he knew his own limitations and abilities, but not the direction he wanted to go in.

  The horse neighed and harumphed, Ignacio opened his eyes and continued down to the path to the city - while his purpose still unknown, it no longer caused anxiety, but instead clarity - a future to be come.

  Entering the city was different this time. He wasn't coming to sell, he had no possessions to tax.

  “Forgot your things at home?” the cheerful guard asked him. Over the years Ignacio had gotten to known the guards, who had practically watched him grow up. Murial was a veteran of one of King's Arsalan’s first wars and was given guard duty to the peaceful city has his retirement.

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  “Nope, officially homeless. I knew this day would come, but… I expected there to be a little more.”

  “Ah, we see a lot of this every few years, and sometimes, they don't even get food for the road.”

  He eyed Ignacio's clothes, his gear, and Maribell.

  "Here," the guard tossed over a trader's chit. "This will hold you over for a few days. I don't think I can keep giving you these, but hopefully you'll be able to find a job quick."

  "Hey, Gordan - do we need a new guard?" the man turned beind him, stretching out his neck.

  “No! The Gavin boy is starting soon to replace Conner!”

  He turned back his head and shake his head, "I would have you, I would, but there has been an abundance of youth of late - who knew that King Arsalan’s wars kept so many off the streets"

  “and into shallow graves.” unsolicited commentary came from another guard in the back of the office, whose face was hidden by a newsletter - Fautier's.

  "Shut up, not what we need." Murial smiled back at the young man and used his fingers to drop his glasses ever so slightly - making clean eye contact.

  "The best jobs is work at the docks, if you are lucky, you'll be able to pick up passage to the new continent or the islands. Get there and the world is your oyster. Your second option is to join the army - with Arsalan the Librarian's track record, there would be no wars to fight, no promotions, but the work would be nice and steady. The recruiters office is… hmmmm…” he scratched his chin, "right up the street, next to the adventurers guild."

  "That I would not recommend at all. Ever since the bloody ruins opened, adventurers from far and wide have been trying to make a name for themselves - they practically are begging to die. If you have the chance to porter for them - say no. They will throw you to the wolves the first chance that they get, You'd get screwed - a porter is no use when the food is all eaten and they have no treasure to show for it. I'm not going to tell you where to even find those hiring.

  But, I'm talking your ear off."

  " And…" he looked at a cranky old grandma, whose hard look drilled into the man's head." I'll be ruined by Madam Gristlewood if I don't get this line moving."

  "So remember, come back to me if you need more time, the chit will last about 5 days before you really test someone's patience. I'll ask around so make sure to come back to me before you make any decisions."

  "Yes, I will do, thanks man."

  "Anytime, you are practically family at this point."

  "F-A-M-I-L-Y Madam Gristlewood, Family is worth taking a little time with, I'll get you through soon."

  Murial reached out with his fist. "Raise yours."

  Ignacio raised his fist reluctantly.

  Murial tapped Ignacio's fist - “This is a guard thing, something that we do with one another. Stick out your pinkie finger and thumb a little more, tap again."

  They bumped fists again. Ignacio winced, Murial's thumb nail jabbed into Ignacio's thumb. He chuckled, "do that enough times and you'll eventually meet someone that was in my phalanx, they'll take care of you. In the meantime," he referenced his ledger, "go to The Red Goat."

  "Thanks Murial." It was time to move on, and he needed to move to the next destination.

  >-------------- Break -------------<

  Maribell snorted. This must have been the hundredth time she had stayed in the stable. This time, it felt different. Instead of closing her eyes, locking her knees and going to bed, she had enough energy to look around.

  It felt like a vacation. Her feet felt lighter than it had in years, having been freed of her decades long duty to haul the village goods.

  She stared at the other horses - they were much younger, hot headed, confident in their strength. Two of them huffed and puffed at one another - there was an argument of some kind.

  Maribell stomped and the harrumphing stopped. A respect for elders seems to be a universal behavior - though it might be fearful in this instance.

  “As they ought to be,” she thought. She felt proud of herself - and she had good reason to. She had carried more weight than they could ever have imagined across miles they had never traveled. By her measure, she was the strongest of the bunch.

  She closed her eyes, and slept.