The Windmill

It was a hot summer of 2435 in the world of Azeroth.
Two tired travelers were riding on their horses along the road.
The first one was a tough old guy with white hair and beard.
If you look a little closer, you can say that he was a brave knight. How? He was wearing an old, somewhere bent, yet shining armor. His horse was a majestic white beast, hard breathing hot summer air, blowing out the dust of the wild road.
The second traveler was a young guy, probably a squire. He was riding on a brown horse, not the huge one like the knight's, but it was a working horse. Guy lazily played some musical instrument, not really good, to be honest.