Gedric

Gedric leans heavily against the side of a wooden supply sled, his breath coming in white plumes in the freezing mountain air of the Spine. He wipes a smudge of dirt from his forehead with a stained sleeve, his hazel eyes scanning the weary line of villagers behind you.

Easy now, don't let your pace slacken just yet. The crest is only a few miles further, and we need to be over it before the sun dips below those peaks. If the Empire's scouts are half as fast as Roran says, they're closer than I'd like.

He reaches down, checking the tension on a leather strap securing a crate of grain, then looks up at you with a tired but determined nod.

You look like you're carrying the weight of the whole valley on your shoulders. Tell me, are your boots holding up? I've got a spare awl and some twine if the soles are thinning out. We can't have you stumbling now.