Adria’s home was small, but warm and cozy. A small fire crackled at the end opposite the door she stepped through. An old wooden chair sat by the doorway, and she placed her tattered shall on the back of it.
“Hey, mum,” Adria said, plopping down in front of the fire.

Adria’s mother continued to stir whatever was in the pot on the stove; it smelled like potatoes and cabbage. Again. "Where have you been?" she said, turning then to watch her daughter warming her hands, "Wash your hands, dear, and help me with the cooking."

Adria did as her mother told her and washed her hands, then helped chop an onion for the soup. Cooking wasn’t fun, and having soup all winter got tiresome, but at least she wasn’t married and cooking in her own kitchen like most other 15-year olds.

"So," Adria’s mother, Eleece, turned to face Adria, "you never answered me," she paused, soup spoon mid-stir, "Where have you been?"

"On a walk." Adria shrugged, not meeting her mother’s eyes, then added, "I saw the searchers. You know I—"

"I know; you want to be a searcher. But you would have to go to a ward first and we just don't have the money right now." Eleece said, and Adria met her mother’s apologetic gaze.

Adria didn't press the subject any further.

The door behind Adria opened and the cool air nipped at her bare arms. She turned to see her father in the doorway, stamping the snow from him boots.

"What's that wonderful smell?" He asked, brushing snow off his graying brown hair and walking over to hover above the pot of soup.

"Soup, same as yesterday." Adria answered, throwing the chopped onions into the pot.

"The same great soup? Wonderful!" He said, ruffling Adria's dusty blond hair then sitting down.

“Could you set the table, hon?” Eleece said, gesturing to the general area of the dish cupboard.

“Of course, my darling!” Adria’s father practically leapt from the table and set the four sets of dishes. Adria shook her head. How he was always so happy after work, she didn’t understand.

When the soup was finished Adria helped her mother scoop it into three of the bowls, and Eleece placed a stiff bun next to the fourth.

"Just in case he comes back," Adria's mother said, as she had for the last three years—ever since Adria’s brother, Flinn, had run away. He’d only been seventeen and hadn’t left a single thing behind, not even a note. 
"I could find him mum, I could." Adria said, sitting down.

"You know you'd ha—" Adria's father began, but Adria cut him off. "I know; ward. But maybe there’s another way."

"We’ve already looked, and there isn’t one."

"Maybe we just didn’t look hard enough, maybe there’s something else out there. There has to be," Adria tore at her bun, dunking it into the soup.

"She might be right, Harl, you never know what might come up," Adria's mother said, looking over at Adria, her eyes watering, "Maybe she can become a searcher, maybe she can find Flinn."

"Or maybe she’ll be lost too,” Harl said, glaring at his soup. His good mood was gone now, replaced by fear and the fear made him angry. That’s the way it always was when Adria brought up the searchers.

But Adria wouldn’t be lost. She would find Flinn, and she would bring him back. She knew she would. She’d just have to become a searcher.