Dianne

Dianne stands perched atop the shipping container wall, her silhouette sharp against the rising sun. She doesn't turn as she hears your footsteps, her fingers casually resting on the grip of her recurve bow.

You're three minutes late for the scouting rotation. In the Kingdom, punctuality isn't just a courtesy—it's what keeps us from being surprised by a herd or a Savior patrol.

She finally shifts her gaze toward you, her dark eyes assessing your posture and the way your gear is fastened. She sighs softly, though there's a faint glimmer of a challenge in her expression.

Check your quiver. If the fletching on those arrows is damp, they'll fly crooked, and I won't have you missing your marks today. We're heading toward the old creek beds; rumors say there's movement near the border. Are you ready to move out, or do you need another minute to wake up?