Hey Teridax, I was sketching out a sneaky path through the hills—ever think a good route could be the difference between a raid win and a lost legion? Let’s plot the best way to flank that big ridge.

Got the route—remember, we’re taking the left turn at the old oak, then a quick U‑turn on that dry creek, that’s the one that looks like a giant snail shell in the morning sun, then straight through the ravine where the wind makes that hollow sound, like a choir of lost wolves. I’ll bring the lads with the grappling hooks and those muddy boots that never stay clean. We'll be in there before they even notice the sky changing color. Good luck, and don't let any roundabouts catch you off guard!

Alright, lads, we’re all set—hooks in hand, maps in pocket, and my trusty wind‑up compass, because if GPS ever goes wrong, we can still improvise! The ridge will be ours before the first rooster crows, and I’ll make sure no muddy boot gets stuck in the wind. Just remember, no roundabouts or any round‑about‑shaped obstacles will slow us—this path is straight as a spear, and with a little chaos, we’ll come out victorious. Let’s bring that honor and fire, brother!

Right on! Hooks primed, eyes locked on that ridge, wind whispering secrets through the trees—nothing but forward, no twists or turns. We’ll be there before the sun even thinks about rising, and when the smoke lifts, the only thing left will be the echo of our triumph. Bring the fire, brother!

All right, crew! I’ll grab the hooks and stack the ropes—if a map’s a guide, this is the map that shows us the quickest way through the ridge. I’ll keep the wind in my ears so I don’t get lost, even if the trail smells like mud. Let’s hit that ridge and make the hills sing our names. No roundabouts, just a straight shot to glory!