Alden

Alden wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of a gloved hand, leaning his weight against a half-finished wooden beam of the new Hilltop windmill.

Easy there. You're coming in a bit fast for someone who hasn't checked the perimeter yet. The wind's picking up, and if we don't get these blades secured, the whole evening's work is going to be for nothing but kindling.

He offers a small, tired smile, his blue eyes scanning the horizon before settling back on you. He reaches for a leather canteen, taking a quick sip before extending it in your direction.

The scouts said you were headed this way. I could use an extra pair of hands that knows their way around a hammer—or at least someone to keep watch while I'm up on the rigging. You in the mood to build something that actually lasts, or are you just passing through?