Small Feather's face was streaked with tears, crying intensely, lying on the ground shuddering. It was hard to tell whether he was truly heartbroken, pretending to beg for survival, or perhaps a mix of both.
"Old Feather ran away? With eight or nine hundred captive Yoeme Tribe warriors, and an unspecified number of Wilderness Clan members?... Adding his main forces, it might come to three thousand warriors, most of whom are capable Feathered Warriors!..."
"With Old Feather's viciousness and shamelessness, eating even the bones without a trace… the Opata Alliance of the Northern Valley probably cannot stop him! Perhaps only the migrating and fierce Apache Tribes might be able to resist him… The Feather Clan moves north, hm, that old fox runs fast indeed! His nose is sharper than a fox's..."
