Past the edge of the Kocari Wilds, bog gives way to rising rock. Tundra. Wind.

Day glares off the ice for a short five hours of light. By night, their tents are stalked by the distant eyes of bears. Wooly Fereldan dogs pull a sledge of supplies and those too weak to walk, but most of the space is reserved for rations. The further you travel, the thinner life grows. You can only hunt and forage for so long.

Your guest, one Regis Lyme, is a small man in an exceptionally large coat. He's delighted to discuss your surroundings, and the habits of the nomads who call it home. Any Chasind, Dalish, or Avvar in company will receive all manner of invasive questions about their own peoples.

(He's less interested in the Rifters, unless they make an effort to sound appropriately rugged and daring.)

Isaac is tense. They're a day out when he pulls the others aside: The Inquisition cleared this area of a red lyrium mine. He suspects the dig site may be one and the same.