Warrior Lake stretched eighty li from north to south and more than forty li from east to west, a great lake capable of irrigating hundreds of li of fertile soil. The blazing summer sun cast down the radiance of growth, making the fields and farmland by the lake lush and green, weeds and crops growing together in a wild tangle.
"What a pity!... Such good land, and they don't tend it carefully... The weeds are as tall as the crops!..."
The Longship moored beside Warrior Lake, found a Bozalos camp, and rested there for the night. The old Militia could not sit still, so he slipped out to the edge of the fields beyond the camp, looked over the farmland that had been planted for two months, and could not help shaking his head with a sigh.
"Stupid! Stupid! What a bunch of stupid blocks of wood..."
Priest Mekat, however, did not go down into the fields, but looked around the camp instead. He saw the tribal warriors who had returned after disbanding, each of them lean all over, their faces showing the marks of a long trek. In the Purepecha country accent, he asked Chipawa.
"Brave Warrior Captain Chipawa, with so many tribal warriors marching so far on campaign, who provides the food?"
"Huh? Food for the campaign? For ordinary summoned tribes, it's just like migration—they bring it themselves! Of course, the Red Crow Great Tribe provides food for elite hundred-man units like ours. We are warriors directly under the Red Crow Great Tribe, not the same as those summoned tribal warriors!..."
Hearing the way Priest Mekat addressed him, Chipawa grinned in satisfaction. He reached out and patted his fellow countryman on the shoulder, then answered without a care.
"Of course, some tribes are poor and can't bring enough