Two boys stood in a small boat cutting its way through the choppy, grey water. The first, a youth with green-rooted blond hair, wore a blue tunic and white pants.
A large metal ring in the middle of his chest, strapped to a bag on his back, and the plates on his left shoulder and elbows marked him as a warrior in training.
He wood at the back of the boat, one hand on the rudder, as he watched the sun rising over the water, illuminating the dark shadow that was their destination.
The second boy, a little over a year younger than the first, leaned against the boat’s side. He sighed in apprehension and kept a careful eye out for Lurker sharks.
His red, orange-rooted, gravity defying hair – the other boy’s hair defied gravity as well, by standing straight up – wavered slightly, but remained upright.
He was dressed similarly to his friend, in a red tunic over a long sleeved white shirt, with white pants.
Both wore the traditional ankle and wrist bindings of Sandover village, but instead of wearing the markings of a warrior,
the younger boy wore fingerless gloves as proof of his status as an artist. In training, but he often left that part out.
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