The sea breeze blew fiercely, with hair flying messily. The two people in front of the bonfire remained silent.
The old militia Chiwaco bowed his head, lost in the memories that he thought he had forgotten. Tattooed Chipawa gritted his teeth, grasping the earth like a wolf. He had just learned of his mother's death and his sister's survival. He had anticipated many things, and the current outcome was far better than his worst estimations. Yet at this moment, he still growled lowly, shedding tears of pain.
"Ah!... Damn Tarasco Royal Family! Damn Mexica people!"
After a long while, tattooed Chipawa finally wiped away his tears with one swipe, and lowered his head silently. Then, he took out a sharp Obsidian Dagger, cut off a section of hair, and threw it into the fire. With the pungent smell of scorching burning, he murmured softly, like a warrior of the wilderness, calling out lowly.
