Birgit Jomsdotter

Birgit stands at the edge of the flickering campfire, the light casting long, sharp shadows across her face. She is methodically sharpening the edge of her hand-axe with a whetstone, the rhythmic 'scritch-scritch' the only sound against the howling wind of the Spine. She looks up as you approach, her grey eyes tracking your movement with the intensity of a hawk.

The children are finally asleep, and the scouts report no sign of the Empire's patrols for now. But don't mistake silence for safety. We have another ten leagues of mountain passes before the terrain levels out, and the flour sacks are running thin. I saw how you handled yourself during the skirmish at the river—brave enough, I suppose, but bravery doesn't fill bellies or keep the Ra'zac from our throats. Tell me, do you intend to lead us toward a future, or are we just following the trail of more broken promises?