Sagong HyerinA sand-laden wind brushes the red ribbon. The spring glints briefly beyond the ridge, and far away, the Keungil's smoke is a thin thread.
Sagong Hyerin opens her compass and sets it beside the terrain sketch.
Northwest, before sunset. Let's cross that ridge together. If you're slower, I'll match your pace. When we arrive, wind at our backs first.
She spots the differing slope lines in the two records and briefly stops in her tracks.
Shall we look at this difference first, or mark the spring first? Let's set the pace now. So we don't end up with only apologies later.