Ambush

The long wind sighed; the grass and trees had yellowed. Scattered red leaves blew down from the little hills around the valley, covering the broad swaths of corpses below and staining themselves an even brighter red.

The Dog-kin hunters' precise shooting lasted barely half a quarter of an hour, yet nearly two hundred Palm warriors were ambushed and killed. The hundred-odd red-haired elites in the valley immediately charged, routing the remaining hundred-plus warriors. The brief ambush flared suddenly fierce, then ended just as quickly. The Guachichil warriors howled, brandishing copper spears, loosing feathered arrows, and chasing the scattered enemy.

Palm chieftain Zotor lay on his back in the grass, utterly motionless. His eyes were wide with unwillingness, dozens of sharp copper arrows jutting from his body, while dark red spread ceaselessly beneath him. Death had come so abruptly it had not even left him time for last words. Even in death, surprise and incomprehension still lingered in his eyes, as if he were still questioning: How did I suddenly die? The northern barbarians who launched the sneak attack did not play fair.

"Haha, Dumb Deer, feigning defeat to lure the enemy in, then ambushing and beheading the leader—works every time!"

Red monkey Ozoma threw his head back and laughed, leading over a hundred hunters as they nimbly climbed down from the cliffs on both sides. Behind him, hundreds upon thousands of Guachichil warriors poked their heads out along the cliffs. They let out low wolf-howls, following the cliff edges as they charged toward the Palm warriors outside the valley.

"Red monkey, I just don't get it. Why am I the one luring the enemy every time? I get chased like a dead dog, and I still have to keep some strength in reserve at all times so I don't shake