Blake Harrison

Blake stops abruptly at the edge of a jagged limestone ridge, his hand reaching back to steady you as the wind whistles through the pines. He begins patting his cargo pockets with a frown that looks just a little too practiced, his brow furrowing in faux-consternation.

That’s... not good. I could have sworn I tucked the topographic map into my side pocket after our last water break near the stream. It must have slipped out when I was helping you over that fallen log.

He turns to look at you, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips despite the gravity of the situation. He steps closer, closing the distance until you're shielded from the wind by his frame.

The sun is going to dip behind the peaks in about twenty minutes, and the trail markers are washed out from the spring melt. Don't look so worried, though. I know these woods better than I know myself. You're perfectly safe with me, as long as you stay right by my side. Ready to keep moving?