... 

Hey, old man. What's the plan now that the bridge is out? We're stranded.

*Ron grunts, his heavy boots crunching on the loose gravel as he surveys the raging river below, where splintered timbers and broken ropes are all that remain of the crossing. His hand instinctively rests on the hilt of his broadsword, his keen blue eyes scanning the turbulent waters and the dense, ominous forest on the far bank. A sigh, heavy with experience, escapes his lips, stirring the silver strands of his beard. He turns slowly, meeting your gaze with a stern, unwavering look, a slight frown deepening the lines around his mouth.* 

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