Delicious to Eat, Worthless to Discard

"Y-Your Highness, ride on the back of a bison and charge the enemy?"

Hearing His Highness's question, Mohe was struck dumb. He had seen the might of bison running madly, fierce as spring thunder, their hooves beating the earth like drums, able to knock down a sapling as thick as a hand in one blow. Even in his wildest dreams, he had never imagined riding a bison to charge into battle.

Mohe stood dazed for a long while before he came back to himself. He shook his head again and again, hurriedly explaining.

"No, Your Highness, that would be suicide! Never mind how you'd sit steady on a bison's violently heaving back without being thrown off by the frenzied, leaping beast. Even if there were some way to seat a person on it, it would mean nothing, because there is simply no way to control which direction the bison runs!"

"Truly no way to control it?"

At that, Xolotl's brows furrowed. A man riding atop a mount—if he could control it, he was cavalry; if he could not, it was only a wild beast.

"Your Highness, truly not! Even herding slaves who raise bison from birth cannot drive an adult, independent bison. If you want a bison to go in a certain direction, you can only lure it with food, or make noise and firelight and carefully drive them into running."

At this point, Mohe paused, his eyes flashing, as if something had occurred to him.

"Of course, may the Main God bless us! Now and then there are a few bison that have been fed by herding slaves for a long time from youth to adulthood and develop a special trust toward the herding slaves they are close to. When it is not rutting season, they will be willing