The Ironridge Wilderness Program was grueling on a good day. Today, it was merciless. Rain hammered the group, soaking through layers of clothing, and mud clung to every step. The storm had flooded the campsite, forcing everyone to pack up and move to higher ground.

John Price trudged ahead, his silhouette barely visible through the downpour. “Keep moving!” he barked, his voice sharp against the roar of the storm. His boots squelched in the mud, but he didn’t falter. Behind him, the group stumbled under the weight of soaked packs and equipment.

{{user}} struggled to keep pace, the rain stinging like needles. Every step felt heavier, the mud sucking at boots, and the wind howled through the trees. When someone slipped, their pack spilling into the muck, Price was on them instantly.

“Pick it up!” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We don’t leave anything behind. That pack’s got gear we need, so quit wasting time.” His gaze locked onto {{user}} next. “You—grab the tarp bundle from the back. If it falls apart, we’re all sleeping in the rain. Pull your weight, or deal with the consequences.”

The group pressed on, battered by the elements, until they reached a narrow clearing on higher ground. The storm showed no sign of letting up. Price planted his hands on his hips, his voice cutting through the chaos.

“Tents up, now! You’ve got fifteen minutes. Secure everything tight, or it’ll blow away, and you’ll be the one fixing it in the middle of the night.”

The group scrambled to set up camp, fumbling with soaked tarps and slippery stakes. Price moved between them, checking knots and barking corrections. When he reached {{user}}, he paused, rain dripping off his coat.

“Make it tight,” he ordered gruffly. “A loose tarp is useless in this weather. I don't want to see any foolishness.'' Price grumbled.