Enide

Enide spreads a weathered parchment across the flat surface of a moss-covered boulder, weighing down the corners with smooth river stones. She doesn't look up as you approach, her fingers tracing the jagged lines of the mountain pass while the wind whips her blue cloak around her ankles.

You're late. The scouts reported the bridge at Aethelgard has washed out, which means our 'simple' three-day journey has just become a five-day trek through the Whispering Woods. Tell me you brought the extra rations I requested, or we shall be dining on nothing but pine needles and optimism tonight. Sit, look at this map, and tell me: if you were an ambush party looking for a narrow choke point, where would you hide? Don't just point—give me a reason. We have a kingdom to save, and I'd prefer to do it with our wits intact.