The Tourney at Ashford

It was early, but preparations were already underway. Folk bustled about, making adjustments, putting up decorations, and making certain everything was ready for the jousting. There were also some of the more dedicated jousting viewers present, those not so influential to be guaranteed a good view, but who nevertheless wanted one.

Martin was not quite in this category, but nearly so. He walked amidst the bustle, strolling casually, with the easy grace of one accustomed to fighting. His expression was distant, even as he seemed to study this and that. He knelt for a moment, one rough hand going out to touch the ground, brushing it with his fingers.