"What? My grave?! You!..."
On the hills in summer, the sun shines very warmly, making people feel warm all over. The three small bumps and potholes look like homes carefully dug out by the Mexican fox. If you look carefully, you can see that the potholes are facing south and the mounds are facing north, which is a thoughtful "sit north and face south". And on the dirt bag, there were actually three abstract little people painted on it, vaguely like two big and one small...
Chihuaco, the old militiaman, was stunned, his eyelids twitching, and the corners of his mouth twitched. He looked at the "feng shui treasure" chosen by Chippawa, looked at the little man representing himself, and then turned to look at his son's sincere face. He raised his palm tremblingly and gritted his teeth, but in the end he was still reluctant to hit him.
"Good son...Dad is still alive!...I guess there is no need for this place right now..."
"That's right! Dad, since you are still alive and my sister is also alive...then I will dig up your and my sister's graves tomorrow..."
"you!…"
The old militiaman's eyes widened and he was shaking with anger. He was speechless for a moment. Looking at the sincere joy on his son's face, he suddenly felt sad and sighed softly.
"Forget it! Just keep it all!..."
The old militiaman turned his head and looked at the scenery on the mountain. The hills are neither high nor short, and the mountain flowers bloom in summer. To the east is a large open lake, to the west is a densely populated camp, to the north and south are flat fields and farmland...the fresh breath of life is everywhere.
"There are mountains, water, flowers and fields... The scenery in this land is really beautiful! Since you want to stay here, you should just... keep a grave! Dad doesn't know when or where he will die. You keep it here... From now on, it will be more or less just a thought!..."
With that said, the old militiaman turned around, lowered his head, and walked towards the lake at the foot of the hill.
"Dad! Why are you going back? Red Crow City is to the west!..."
"Just wait for me! I'll go get something from the boat."
The mountain is not high and it is very close to the long boat on the lake. After a while, the old militiaman returned to the hilltop with some seeds of the Cuban tung oil tree. Then, he looked at his son who was standing blankly and asked.
"Chipawa, the grave you dug for me...is this hilltop your land?"
"Ah? Dad, you can't grow anything on this hilltop, and no tribes occupy it. If I want to ask for it, it's just a matter of a few words."
"Well...then go and ask for it! Don't let our family's grave be leveled by someone else..."
Chihuako, the old militiaman, nodded, stretched out his hand, and called Chippawa over.
"What are you doing standing around? Don't you know how to dig? Come here and dig a hole for me! ... Carefully plant the seeds of these oil trees around them, a few steps apart... The mountains are bare, with only flowers and no trees. It’s a little off-putting…”
"Huh? Planting trees? Oh, okay..."
The wasteland warrior Chippawa squatted on the ground, digging a hole with his ax and asked doubtfully.
"Dad, what kind of seed is this? It feels weird to the touch? Did you just say, oil tree?"
"Yes! A tree that can bear oily seeds, and a tree whose seeds can squeeze out oil! Dad finally brought it back from the Cuban Snake Island on the eastern sea with great difficulty..."
"Ah! Can you squeeze out oil? Can you eat it?!"
"Eat, eat, eat! You know how to eat! Remember, the oil extracted from these seeds is poisonous! You can use it, but you can't eat it."
"You can't eat oil? What's the use of it?"
"Chipawa, you have to lead people to fight, and you need to use oil to maintain your equipment... Apply oil to the copper blade to prevent rust, apply it to the leather armor to strengthen it, soak the gun shaft to strengthen it, and apply it to the big bow to maintain it... This oil! I just want you to make careful preparations before the war!… By then, I won’t be able to use the grave you dug, but…”
Having said this, the old militiaman pursed his lips and did not want to say the next words. The wasteland warrior Chipawa blinked his eyes, seeming to understand. The two of them worked like this for a while, planting more than a dozen tung oil trees from Cuba. Then, the old militiaman looked at a row of newly dug mounds and sighed quietly.
"That's it! Although it's not the rag wood from my hometown, trees that can produce oil are of great use... After I leave, you must remember to take care of these trees... and take care of yourself..."
"Don't worry, Dad! I'm so brave, and I have thick armor made of bison skin! Even those ten tribal warriors with stone spears can't hurt me!"
"You...you idiot!"
"ah?…"
After a brief interlude, everyone in the longship descended the hill and headed west again. After walking for several miles, everyone passed through the outer fence and arrived at Red Crow's "city", which was full of shacks and huts and filled with wilderness tribes. Chipawa, the wilderness warrior, took his father deep into the messy camp and came to his hut. He was so proud that he showed off some of the spoils of war and was scolded again. Then, the personal guards of Little Chief Alan finally arrived.
The personal guard leading the way was a strong female warrior of the wilderness, with terrifying tattoos on her face and arms twice as thick as those of the old militiamen. She held her head high, carrying a spear and a bow and arrow, and looked at the group of "Mexicans" indifferently, and asked, "Who is the leader?" Then, she took the two leaders of the old militia, Chihuaco and Mecat Priest, and headed towards the strict chief's tent.
The wasteland warrior Chipawa wanted to follow him, but was coldly rejected by the wasteland female warrior. He could only feel a little worried as he watched the two people walk away, step by step, into the tall tent in the center of the camp.
In the big tent, there was a swaying bonfire burning, and there was also a faint smell of herbs. More than a dozen red-haired canine hunters looked fierce, holding spears and copper axes, with obvious hostility on their faces. They looked at the two Mexica leaders who were not very strong, like a pack of grinning wolves looking at the fox walking into the den.杩
At the top of the big tent is a slender warrior leader. She wore strong cowhide armor, carried two sharp copper axes, hung her strong long legs, and sat on a bearskin rug that was raised one meter high. Behind the bearskin blanket, there are two large hanging bows, a row of quivers filled with arrows, and a huge brown bear head, which seems to be a testimony of some kind of bravery.
Chihuaco, an old militiaman, carefully looked at the female chief above him, but saw no obvious female features. The only thing that allowed him to confirm the identity of the other party was a silver chief's mask, engraved with mysterious wilderness patterns. At this moment, under the firelight, the mask shone with a cold silver light and was worn on half of the female chief's face, hiding her unknown appearance.
Under the silver chief's mask, there are sharp hunter eyes like an eagle, a straight nose bridge, and cold red lips exposed.
Chief Alan, who was wearing a mask, looked at the two people who walked in with cold eyes. Her sharp gaze fell on the two of them, like a sharp arrow about to be shot, giving people a sense of danger in the face of the sharp edge. She just stared coldly with hunting eyes, until beads of sweat formed on the old militiaman's forehead, then she mocked in a deep voice with a deliberately lowered majestic tone.
"Haha! A weak warrior like you is the leader of the Mexica fleet?"
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