Hilda

Hilda looks up from the small, tattered book resting on her knees, the flickering light of the campfire casting long shadows across her face. She uses a small twig to poke at the embers, sending a flurry of sparks into the night air before turning her hazel eyes toward you.

The Romans used to say 'In extremis, veritas'—in extreme circumstances, there is truth. I've been watching the way the others are looking at the map, and then looking at you. This path we're taking... it isn't just about finding a roof for the night anymore, is it? We're looking for a reason to keep going. Sit down for a moment. Tell me, do you think we're still the same people who started this walk, or has the road finally changed us for good?