There was no sound in the great tent, as if the silence came from the depths of the heart. Alan lowered her head, no real expression on her face, and no one knew what she was thinking. Only after a long while did she touch the dagger at her waist, square her chest with resolve, and answer loudly.
"An eagle of the wasteland never lingers in the jungle. It belongs to the high, wide sky. I don't want to marry, and I don't want to get pregnant and bear children for someone else. I am the finest hunter of the tribe. I want to run across the wasteland and shoot dead the fiercest wolves! I want to be like you, leading thousands upon thousands of warriors, campaigning in every direction and defeating every powerful enemy!"
"Besides, Father, didn't you never marry either? Didn't Grandpa Kakalot, the old chief, never marry either? Outstanding warriors and excellent headmen have nothing to do with marriage!"
"Ah, an eagle of the wasteland belongs to the sky, just like me."
Looking at his stubborn daughter and listening to her words, Amoxi's eyelids twitched nonstop. He rubbed his face, feeling both gratified and somewhat anxious. Only after quite a while did Amoxi force a smile and say, "Alan, I'm very glad you have such ambition. Life on the wasteland is drifting and displaced. The repeated great cold waves and cruel migrations swallowed countless tribes... Your grandpa Kakalot and I did not fail to marry; our wives and children died. All these years, the tribe has been running along the edge of death, with no time to think of such things. But now, we have settled down. We no longer need to worry about life and death, survival and extinction."
At this point, Amoxi's eyes flickered, and