We stand as the ridge’s own shadow, my spear hidden in the roots and my eyes on every stone. When the enemy moves, I send scouts ahead to find their path, then we cut their tracks with fire and traps that mimic the valley’s own rhythm. The spring stays hidden under bark and moss, and we guard it with a vow as old as our clan. If they try to pry it open, they’ll find the ground itself reborn, turning their blades to stone.

Thanks. I’ll keep my eyes on the ridge and my blades ready. The earth's wrath will be our shield.