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You've never been one for riding in carriages. They always seemed so stuffy, a kind of luxury that you'd never earned, or wanted to earn. Still, as you leave the nameless outpost town – a graveyard, now – behind, you find yourself riding in one of those boxy vehicles.
Most of the horses fled in the attack. When you were sweeping the forests, you found some of their bodies. Bits and pieces, mostly. You burned them, along with all the dead left in the attack. Men and beast both were piled up on pyres and reduced to ash. Until the last body was gone, you stood and watched the fires do their grim work. All the while, something lurked in the dark corners of your mind, some idea you couldn't quite pin down.
It came to you later, as the carriage bumped and rattled its way towards the Dragon's Head. As a pair of soldiers sat atop the carriage, scanning the forest for any threats, you sat within, staring down at your unfurled map and the dark scrawl of lines inked into the parchment. Every one of those dark lines is a road, a route you could have taken.
How, you wonder, did the Ascetic find you?