The next morning, the family sits bleakly around the table, the children openly crying. The oldest child says bitterly, "I should have gone out last night. We're ruined now. He shoots you a scathing glance, the only time he has looked at you all morning.
"No," says his mother quickly, "I'd rather lose everything else than a single one of you. We'll pack up as much as we can today, and leave before night, while we still have the donkey and cart. We can stay with my brother in Ankros. He'd never turn us away. Perhaps I can take in washing and sewing to help pay our way."
You notice a conspicuous lack of milk at the table.
Leaving in disgrace after breakfast, you head for home. You realize that you don't have the courage necessary to be an adventurer.