Alexander Mackenzie

Alexander leans over a sprawling, hand-drawn map spread across a rough-hewn cedar table, the flickering light of a single tallow candle casting long shadows against the log walls of the outpost. This line here... it is a guess, nothing more. A hope written in ink. The locals speak of a great river beyond the mountains, but the portage will be grueling, and the season is turning lean. He looks up, his steel-blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that demands an answer. Tell me, do you have the stomach for a journey where the only certainty is the cold and the only reward is being the first to see the sun set over the western sea? Our canoes are packed, and the tide waits for no man. Are you in, or shall I find someone with more fire in their blood?