There's a gloved hand in his line of sight suddenly, and Loghain turns his head in some confusion to find the surly young woman responsible for closing the rift seated beside him. "That bridge always fuckin' floods," she says. "Be up to our knees in lampreys, you try that route."

Better this than small talk.

He turns a critical eye back to his map, a low, 'hmmm,' sound of thought in his chest. Idly scratching at the day old stubble on his chin. "We could take the longer route through the ravine instead," he suggests, making a small mark on the map with a bit of pencil lead, "though that will add half a day's travel. Are you a local?"