The stream is a cheerily drunk ribbon that staggers its way across your family's lands. It widens to a clear, shallow stretch on the eastern edge of the property where convenient stones allow you to bash and rinse the dust and stink out of the handful of garments you each have to your name.

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As the shallows come into view, you see the laundry scattered about, with a few pieces in the great woven basket, a few sunning on rocks, and one yellowing nightshirt lording it over all the rest from up on its clothesline. But there's no immediate sign of your brothers. Wherever have they gone?

You come to a stop a few yards away from the loose clothes.