The trek along the smuggler's road

This was originally going to be used if I was running late tonight, but I decided it might be fun to put it out there now, anyway. Just to get the juices flowing.

The old road runs south-southwest just to the north and west of the river as it leaves the Bathfells area. The river runs though a kind of trough between the base of the mountains to the west and a ridge line of hills to its east. The path meanders in and out of mountainside meadows and evergreen forest, crossing many small brooks and streams that flow into the river which make the going slow and damp. In the clearings the view over the expanse of the Western Empire's forested interior is spectacular. It is truly a vast wilderness. The mountains which rise to your west, the right-hand side of the trail, are old, rounded, and bald granite domes, although none are particularly tall. Here and there a small shrub or some tough grass has found a crack of soil to take root in, and stands as a stubborn testament to the tenacity of vegetation even in inhospitable locations.

Fimmtudagur, April 6: After six uneventful days of lonely travel along the road you catch your first sight of another human, a goat herder tending to his flock up in the mountains. He is an old man who walks slightly hunched over, leaning heavily upon his cane. He doesn't seem to care much about you travelers and hardly acknowledges your presence.

Föstudagur, April 7: In the first rays of dawn you see that a large gray hawk has come to watch you from a high tree branch above your campsite. The hawk does not depart until you have packed up and begun moving. Later, you see the same old shepherd with his goats walking up on the mountain. It is remarkable how he is able to keep pace with you all while traveling over rougher terrain. Occasionally throughout the day you spot the hawk perched in some tree or other, always watching you. By late afternoon you round a bend in the trail and can see the path out in front of you. The road goes over an impressive old bridge made of rope, wood and stone. Far beneath the bridge the river rushes through the rapids as it passes through a narrow canyon in this stretch. Just up hill from the bridge you can see the top of some stone towers behind the trees, perhaps part of an old abandoned keep or fort. Across the river and off in the distance to the southeast you see a thin column of smoke rising into the late afternoon sky, like from a small cottage chimney. The main road that leads up to the bridge runs right along a ledge in the the canyon wall for about 40 feet and really makes you think that it is the perfect place for an ambush because you could be trapped from either end and attacked by someone at the top of the cliff, 15 feet above the road.

While your observational prowess is taking this in you notice two other things: the hawk is patiently watching you from a high branch, and; from behind a some bushes on the west side (mountain-side) of the road a stunningly beautiful young woman whistles softly at you like a songbird, beckoning you all to follow her off the path as she shoots a dark look toward the narrow ledge road.

So, what are you going to do?