The Tourney at Ashford

Egg yawned as he led their horses through the wooded trail, his drunken lout of a brother asleep in the saddle next to him. They'd been traveling like this for three days now, Egg leading his brother's horse and their supply mule through along quiet wooded trails. He never dared stop and his brother only ever truly awoke from his stupor long enough to consume another bottle of wine. The bald boy was beginning to fear he might have gotten them lost...

Suddenly, ahead of them, he noticed the woods began to thin and fade away. He sped them up a bit, leading them out into the fresh air beyond. The sudden surge of light was blinding and the air a refreshing scent after days of loam and decay. As his light blindness faded,
Egg blinked and looked around.

As far as he could see, plains stretched into the distance. And there, at the far edge, mountains begin to rise. He groaned, recognizing the sight of those mountains: the Red Mountains. He'd led them past Ashford, somehow. He sighed, pressing his palms into his face.

"You there, boy!" a voice called.

Egg blinked, dropping his hands. He hadn't seen the slowly moving carriage approaching...