Dusk was gathering, and the great tent had grown a little dim. The bonfire in the corner flickered, stretching out the shadows of the Dog-kin warriors, and making the air feel somewhat hot.
Hearing Alan's words, sweat appeared on the old Militia's forehead. The other woman's Guachichil Language was low and deep; though he could not quite understand all of it, he could clearly sense the hostility and coldness in it. This was obviously not the same as what his son had told him. What happened to the promised "easy-to-talk-to Sister Alan"?
"The chieftain of the Red Crow Tribe!..."
Two steps away, Priest Mekat's expression turned grave, his eyes sharpening. He straightened his chest and stepped forward, about to retort. The old Militia beside him gave a twitch of the arm and hurriedly grabbed Priest Mekat, then stepped forward himself instead, lowering his head with a respectful look.
"Respected and mighty Red Crow Chieftain!... We are not warrior leaders, but the captain and priest of the kingdom's exploration fleet. We encountered a storm at sea, and that was why we drifted to the northern coast..."
The old Militia piled a smile onto his old face and kept his posture very low. He had heard Chipawa speak of this and vaguely guessed where the hostility came from. Carefully, in his unpracticed Guachichil Language, he explained in detail.
"We are the fleet of the Lake Kingdom, not the fleet of the Mexica Alliance... There are no Mexica People in our fleet either. We are all Purepecha people..."
Hearing these words, Chieftain Alan pressed her lips together, and her gaze softened slightly. She pondered for a while, studying the wrinkles on the old Militia's face, then asked in a low voice.
"You are all Purepecha people?... You are the captain on the ship,