"People just aren't ambitious." Uncle said - "We need to be more selective about who we invite to live here, we're taking anybody that walks by, they're a drain on resources and aren't producing enough. We have plenty of farmers, anybody can plant seeds."

Weston almost couldn't believe - did they not see -

"We should just raise wages for the tasks we do need, additional industries, farming is good short term, but we need to diversify. We need the foundry, the metal working - we need to drive them to unlock the building."

"Perhaps scholarships? So more people go to the school, more study? Education is a long term investment in the community."

"We need to have them sign contracts, that if they take a skill they agree to stay here, to live here for - five years, ten years? So it's an investment, it's like a loan that way, once we are able to charge rent for the properties, we'll be able to recoup our investment. We're making more than enough from the rents in our land in Red Hills but if our population continues to grow."

Weston stood up - "We need to lease out the land, multi-generational leases, like Red Hills."

The family stared at him -

"The difference is people are buying into Red Hills. They are...thinking of the future, they have ownership in the town, here we own everything and people aren't unlocking buildings because they don't care enough. We're restricting -"

"Weston, look at what a mess it is out there! They haven't even gotten the Planning Center upgrade, people can build whatever they want, they're locking themselves into bloated expansion."

"They turned the mini-storage into a housing project, why don't they just build a few complexes?"

"Chickens everywhere! Why not have a few chicken barns at the edge of town? Put them all in one place so you don't have to hear them every second."

Weston nodded and took a sip of brandy, listened attentively and only chuckled internally. They were all good questions, good assumptions, in fact they were the same questions he'd been pelting Hickory with until...

Until Red Hills started working, started just doing things - unlocking things, their powers, new structures. Something new each day and Covanger Fields...didn't. Of course some people had - that was obvious, the plants grew too fast in some places for a power not to be involved, but did the people doing it even know?

They were trying to find who loved farming. Who cared about it the most, to test, but it was hard to do. And it was obvious that his assumptions were at least partly correct - his family cooking and eating, business, spending so much time in the Chapel had unlocked new structures as well.

The Planning Upgrade had endless options for making a town 'Nice' and the roads, the Complexes that had already been built had changed as well, slowly shifting into a ocean blue building with cloudy gray roofs - the basic rooms there worked just like the market, Pierson could set rent - or they could be just assigned for free. People tore out a page and moved in.

Of course the Covanger Family didn't want a bunch of project housing next to their 'Palace' so they'd redone the town completely. They'd marked out sections - putting the complexes closer to the farm land so people didn't have to walk as far.

Their insistence on everything being picture perfect - ornate, the Book had provided options for it. They could build a basic 10' x 20' section of road for 10 Build Points and 1 upkeep - or - they could build a beautiful, dark blue 10' x 20' section for 20 Build Points and 2 Upkeep.

Upkeep. The Book wasn't an accounting ledger, it didn't give you the answers, you had to track it - that's what Weston had assumed only to be fishing with Hickory and he'd pulled out a pen and started writing in it!

He was simplifying words - that's how Weston was teaching him how to read, using words in a sentence, sounding them out - helping him look them up, explaining what they meant or what they could mean. Because the Book was obtuse...

The Book responded, the Book had started using simpler language, just like it started tracking the phases of the Moon, because Hickory had written it out - because the Moon was important - of course it was.

How could the Upkeep be reliant on a made up calendar? It was the Moon! One Cycle. One Moon. When the Full Moon was rising the Font gave points, one per person who'd drank, then as it faded it took points. One per Upkeep.

Of course Covanger Fields had plenty of points because of the 'inheritance' from Jared...right now, but for how long? His family had spent 14,000 points on roads, that was 1400 points per moon, 13 moons in a year?

And of course there was the points from killing monsters - they didn't have to go into incursions to do it since they hadn't yet built the Bank - his family wanted those free points! But without the Bank you couldn't build the market, without the Bank you couldn't do the Contracts...

Even though they had twice as many people as Red Hills not everyone had drank- their Font was running at a deficit until they could convince more people to do so. The Chapel/Palace was costing 3,100 points a Cycle!

Of course they had plenty of points, they also had enough material - just using the scrap pit they could probably keep it going for years. They had tons of oil equipment alone that had no use...but it made Weston nervous because this was just the start...

They were using pre-Font resources in order to prop up their economy, in order to keep everybody fed and happy, investing in the town, recruiting the best people, the most innovative ones didn't want to farm so they moved to Red Hills - and what was worse was that it still made his family money, that they owned so much land there - that it was enabling them to continue lurching through the folly -

Just by renting the land out, doing yearly leases they made plenty of marbles. But they couldn't see what was obvious, that Red Hills was going to move - move across the river because Hickory's Town Hall had leveled up, it had expanded and was spreading like a spilled bottle of ink, revealing more of his map each day. Land the Covanger's didn't own...

But Weston didn't have the political capital to force the issue, not after giving land away for practically nothing!

Weston had suffered for leasing that land - he'd taken a huge hit, it wasn't done - what if they had wanted the center of the town? What if they had wanted the business district? What if?

Weston wouldn't have done it on his own - Gage had, but the family didn't know and that was a good thing, what bothered Weston is they couldn't learn. They couldn't see what a boon it had been, what Hunter had set into motion with it - that they were trying to recreate it themselves without that sacrifice, that 'Consideration'. Trying to force it - without leasing the land and wondering why it wasn't working?

He'd never questioned his families position, never questioned what Red Hills could have been, what this whole area could have been if the Covanger's didn't own so much -

Or if they managed it differently, this was Oklahoma, it was rural area, oil wells and cows and tribal lands -

There was a time when Tulsa was one of the most prosperous cities in the world - Covanger's had helped with that, their oil had fueled it's expansion, they could do it again with their land now - but they refused.

And they were going to be punished for it - left behind.

They couldn't have it all, they couldn't have it every way, have everything perfectly organized and cohesive and planned and a prosperous, innovative city - that was obvious.

Weston had said his piece - he was participating less and less in the Study, he had too much to do in Red Hills - as a Diplomat, uncovering the Font's secrets. He got up and left, walking down the curving, spiraling staircase of their Chapel like the center of a Sea Shell, getting off on the bottom floor - the foyer, he looked at the Throne -

It reminded Weston of where an ocean wave crashed against a rocky shore - a sharp spray of white released, frozen and magnificent - the Seat of Power -

Sitting in it had unlocked Pierson's power - it had 'shown him' the emotion, helped him practice it when he concentrated...Pierson described it as fury - reckless fury, what else could lightening be? And he had grown somewhat stronger - rather it was practice or the expansion of the Chapel...

The Culinary Kitchen? Not only did it bestow everybody within it the 'Cooking Skill,' not that it was needed with his family, but it had a magnificent spice rack that refilled each night - spices even Grandmother hadn't heard of, Amchur Powder? Running water, massive ovens and long rows of burners, more then that it had food. Food of every sort currently being crown in Covanger Fields, which was still just the standard varieties. Corn and turnips, radishes, pecans and peanuts, wheat - flours and grains, aplenty.

The room was as smooth as sea shells, self cleaning, housing pots and impossibly sharp knives that wouldn't cut your hand if you slipped, mixing bowls that mixed without movement. All magic...

The Study was almost a business library, it contained information on all the buildings, the Town Hall, essentially it was everything that Pierson would share from the Book, that writing it out had likely triggered this option and it provided a bottle of brandy and box of cigars that also refilled each night. The books covered everything one would hope - from the materials going into the Scrap Pool, who was leasing what room in the Complexes, what structures were available...

And the Grand Dining Room? To set one plate at the head of the table was to set them all. That one perfect meal could become many...it took a moment, but wasn't that fine?

Hot food stayed hot, wine properly temperate, steak seared and steaming but still cool, still bloody in the center if you earned that privilege - beyond that the entire room was art, pure perfection. The way the table spanned the expanse stretching to meet the needs of the people dining, somehow it knew - up to a hundred feet all held up by four swooping, sea-foam legs.

The table cloth that draped it churned in mesmerizing white crispness, each chair flowed in a wave, the light endlessly adjustable from soft sunset to mellow moonbeams -

The Palace - it was no Chapel, for all it produced an 'aura' it was one of opulence and refinement, tradition and class...

Weston wasn't impressed with it...that was what was craziest, that he found it absolutely amazingly unnecessary...perhaps he was just too busy to enjoy it just yet, too focused.

His truck was waiting, armored now, welded plates and a smaller windshield - bench seats in the back, where men could sit with guns, former soldiers - Veterans. Police - whoever they could find with the experience.

Tate opened the door for him and Weston climbed in to sit next to Gage who was looking over personnel paperwork in a neat script, and Hunter - who contented himself with an excited smile -

The lead vehicle - armored and ready, the guards facing forward -

Weston had been monitoring the shadow attacks, tracking them. It was painfully obvious that it was a growing threat - regardless of their dedication to extermination and prevention -

Another reason for this journey.

The Embassy had been an obvious solution - to do with the surrounding settlements what he had begun with Covanger Hills - to bring them into the fold of Red Hills, see what they did well, learn from them, and perhaps just as importantly? Trade.

Which was why Hunter was so giddy and everybody was so squished - he'd filled every available space with merchandise and marbles...

They were going to the tribal lands today. Going into new territory -

Tate drove and Weston watched out the window, occasionally he caught one of the shadows rousing, turning their head, or charging before they were fired into and they sped past most - Weston saw a massive bug, unfamiliar, but they'd outrun it if they were -

- Three horn honks -

"Fuck." Gage said -

"What - what?" Hunter called spinning, but Weston was already standing up, pushing the trap door open on the roof of his cab and grabbing the two handles - he threw himself up.

The gunfire behind him was joined as the lead car emptied, fanning out in a circle -

"Take the bug." Gage called to him as he more patiently stepped out and began directing his men into an attack line that focused on whatever threat that was up front, threatening to pinch them in.

Weston focused on his enemy, a rhinoceros beetle that was gaining ground as it's limbs churned the grass beneath it. Weston dashed forward and watched as the land took on a blueish, rippling hue - his instincts felt honed, ready for combat but this was a colossal creature -

Man did not historically combat monsters - there was no martial art for it. Weston thought he was safe, though, the slow moving creature would be easy to dodge, it was the others that he feared for -

Blazing his power was all it took - the Beetle zeroed in on him as Weston cut at an angle and saw the bug's direction change to follow this exciting, glowing treat! Seeing he was correct in the enemies maneuverability, he planned to pass the bug then flip onto it's back - to pound into it's skull and cook it from the top -

The convertible carapace opened as Weston neared but it was not wings that emerged, fluttering - but tentacles. It was like a roiling pile of wild, parasitic worms that would have Hickory salivating and twerking his sword into a fish-hook.

They exploded out of it's back, a many-limbed assault that perhaps was more challenging, more deadly - but a fight Weston was familiar with - as the lashing tendrils whipped and jabbed at him, Weston ducked and danced through them, deflecting the blows and closing the distance.

The shadow sizzled and snapped when it came in contact, and the bugs tactics changed, the blows became lower and sweeping, Weston skipped over them like a jump rope -

He failed to notice the sneaky limb that had snaked behind him, feigned to be fallen after a devastating punch - Weston had thought the limb out of the fight. He felt his skin rippling with scales as the only warning of the attack, he dove - the glancing blow still ringing his head, scale splashing off in a scattered spray.

That added with his forward movement to dodge had him stumbling, scrambling - but it was then the gunfire was turned against his opponent. It was like BB rifles instead of automatics. Weston recovered himself, looking up to see the accurate assault plaguing the bugs head - which chittered angrily, turning to face its originally overlooked attackers.

The spray of bullets from sixteen men pummeled it's face and chipped away at the armored exterior before a bullet finally crossed the necessary threshold of it's anatomy to penetrate into the dark miasma - the men continuing to fire still as the bug's mobility and threat seeped out -

"Cease, cease!" Gage called - "Load up one and three!"

Weston stayed outside - knowing the most dangerous time was during a stop, before they had momentum again - instead he waited until the trucks were all moving then, leaped into the bed. Once they were of speed he climbed back down the hatch.

Even this - this route had taken them nearly a week to find, and it was still just a hope. Their front vehicle was equipped with a plow to push trees - other vehicles from the road to avoid stoping when they couldn't go around.

"Why are they so strong?" Hunter asked - and Weston had no answer - it had been the strongest he'd faced. He didn't show it of course, not in front of his men, he didn't twist his face into worry. That he'd almost died - could have?

He felt the scales detaching, disintegrating against his skin and falling off - hopefully they wouldn't be attacked again before it recharged - about thirty minutes, though he wasn't sure exactly - that was the closest it had ever triggered twice.

It was when they were finally within view of the Chapel that they pulled over - Weston changed his grass stained jeans for slacks, washed his face and made himself presentable all while considering the grand structure.

It wasn't as imposing, as militaristic as Jareds had been - but nor was it completely ornate like the Covanger's Palace, nor humble and simple like Hickory's big rock -

It looked to be still level two and it had him holding his breath, it was easily seen from this distance, above the treeline, but it could have been worse - the structure appeared almost Nordic, perhaps even viking in design?

It was a cautious mix between pragmatic and imposing - the swooping buttresses were colorful and bold, like feathers, and from the other obvious rooftops Weston was pleased to see that the town appeared to be intact, a good sign -

Gage called for the men to stow their weapons, they put up a Red Cross/Medic Flag marked Diplomat - Hickory still hadn't approved an official Red Hills flag, nor the Civic upgrade that would allow branding - this would allow a flag, the seals on deeds and contracts to be custom and unique, more official - like Covanger Fields was and also Jared's Land.

Weston had realized that the badges had likely been some element of that, though Jared seemed to have done it through the Chapel - his family continued to uncover the story and Weston had been reminded anew of the direction it could have gone - the guards had been Inquisitors instead of a policing force or pure security...

Covanger Fields adopted colors were crossed wheat and a proud bull with a noble, posture - it was a poignant insinuation - food and ferocity -

That Weston was absolutely confident the women had already sewn variations of the flag with wheat aflame - with the bull's horn's lowered?

All Hickory had to do was adopt an official flag, hang it somewhere - as the Covanger's had done...

Of course Hickory had seemed bored with the prospect, had nearly spoiled May's attempts of manipulation by accepting the first design -

May was of course handling things, had planned on proposing different ideas he wouldn't like intentionally so when she presented the one she wanted? That somehow Hickory hadn't just insisted on a flag with a fish on it right away?

'Ya'll, it really was a mermaid.'

This time as the convoy readied itself for movement, Weston stood up through the open hatch of his roof like it was a parade, his men put down their weapons but stayed ready, they drove slowly into town until Weston kicked Gage to call the halt when he felt it was the right time.

Weston stopped because it had begun to grow populated - people were following, attracted by the sight, but Weston was looking for some sort of organization. Therefore it was a large group of people gathered on a grassy patch weaving mats that caught his attention.

Weston held up his hands - both open, a sign of peace but not surrender - a friendly wave - so many things made sense from history when you lived it, when there was danger, especially body language - No weapons! Look! I come in peace! Hello!

"Greetings! I'm from Red Hills, a diplomat seeking to share information, to trade and establish relations with the leadership of this settlement."

The people had turned, hearing the engines - they were mostly Native American with scattered Caucasian amongst them, though even the paler features seemed dressed in a strange style that hadn't been common before.

They displayed layered, loose clothing, colorful. Braided hair. All had bows slung over their backs, arrows, which some had hands on in readiness, an arrow knocked but not yet raised - some seemed...curious, talked briefly with themselves in hushed tones, but most importantly a man ran off in the direction of the Chapel.

Weston waited. Still standing - he made small talk with the crowd -

"How have things been? Have you found safety? Succor from the shadow?"

"Chief Show'Me has protected us." A woman said proudly, standing up she inched forward only casually holding her bow - she seemed more curious about the vehicles than Weston - "You have fuel?"

Weston nodded, "Not as much as we'd like, we're rationing it, but we've been able to pool resources, we're making it last."

"The monsters didn't destroy it?" She asked, "They didn't foul it? It still burns?"

Weston felt his surprise, but hid it -

"No, no, we've not had a problem with that." He'd planned on doing an expedition to draw fuel from abandoned vehicles but that now sounded unlikely to work -

"You aren't being attacked?"

Weston shook his head, "We're being attacked, but - we have only had one major incursion, we've been destroying the bubbles."

She looked at Weston closely, as though to check if he was lying or just joking -

"What? How?"

"You kill everything inside and they dissolve."

And this she couldn't believe, she had a mix of shock, of revulsion and - fear. Weston never considered it before, but perhaps such a response should have been obvious. Who would think to touch one of the bubbles? Who would think to do that?

Imagining them in his head, looking at them - they were the last thing he would touch in his life, seeing the creatures heads squeezing out, biting at the air, scrambling to break free - who would touch it with a bare hand?

Hickory

It felt normal to link hands, be pulled into a new world that was a copy of the old - the bubble, being transported. It was simple, it made sense, once you knew it was the right thing to do it became completely normal.

"Diplomat?" Weston heard a voice - turned to see a clean cut man dressed in a polo shirt and slacks, wrinkled but washed clean, as well as a 'Band of Indians' - there was no other way to describe it, they were Indian warriors, feathers, rock weaponry - bows and...no face paint, but eye-liner. Weston had noticed it on the women, even the men there, but the warriors had it done in a more henna design that extended to the cheeks, the forehead -

Status - or tattoos? It could be...

"Yes, a diplomat - appointed by the Fontiff of Red Hills, Hickory. I'm here to bring good will, news of abroad, gifts for your community and hope for a mutually beneficial relationship with your settlement."

Weston didn't know who was in charge, it could very well be this person, this could be the Fontiff and needed to be wary, but - he had to be careful as well, to toe the line between respectful and dignified, he was important, Red Hills was important.

That if Weston gave a grand gesture to a lackey, he would need to give a grander gesture to the Chief - therefore it was just the smallest of nods he shared, hardly more then acknowledgment.

It was exciting, a month ago he could have came into this town and bought a bag of Cheetos, saw the memorials or museums, shopped in their stores. He'd once stopped on the way to a hiking excursion to purchase gator-aid and jerky, to take a piss.

Now it was already a changing culture, it was de-volving? Or was it remembering? It was small changes outside of the warriors, but obvious all the same. It was a braid with a feather, a flower - they didn't seem to wear much makeup beyond the stylized embellishment of their eyes - Weston was even less sure how to approach, he'd gone with the mindset of bringing a pie to the neighbors, a welcome to the neighborhood present -

He decided to not mention his Covanger progeny - that as proud as he was of it, he was here for Red Hills today, that his family were perhaps more wary of the Natives than the Natives were of the Covangers?

Long years of war coupled with impeccable bookkeeping and historical accounting had not resulted in forgetting the past - only the men buried it.

Weston followed the man, as he lead him further into the city on foot, Gage at his right with a chest under one arm, Hunter clattered to the left with who knows what in his back pack. The warriors followed behind, bows down but ready - Gage did have secreted weapons himself but hopefully it wouldn't come to that, they would have left if they had appeared overly hostile, that precautions had been expected, and entering into their power was itself a show of good faith -

Of course the mere fact they were here with such a convoy should...demonstrate, why it would be unwise to invite violence -

It was a long walk and Weston attempted small talk with the guide who introduced himself as Eh'Koh, which meant frog in their traditional language -

"I was Gavin, before the Breaking." Eh'Koh said, "I worked at the casino, as a pit boss."

"I'm Weston." He said, stopping briefly to shake hands, "Are there any courtesies I can demonstrate to show my respect for this settlement? Do you still go by the Highland Reservation?"

"We call ourselves the Tribe." Eh'Koh said, "We've - well, to be honest I'm not sure, you're the first people that has come here to visit, not for refuge, and this is all new. We were surprised to hear we even had visitors, especially a diplomat? The Chief wants to see you for himself."

"Will you tell me what it was like for you? What it's been like?"

"It's been...good." Eh'Koh said, but he was careful to pick the word, perhaps even satisfied and surprised once he said it - "Not at first, and not completely, but - I think it's been better for us than many who have sought shelter."

Weston nodded - they had structures, more then just the Chapel, Weston saw what he guessed was the school house, which still looked small, and maybe the Town Hall, but what was most obvious -

"What are the totems for? You've made those? After? Is it from the book?" Weston gestured - it was actually a mix, between a totem pole and a dream catcher, it had things woven into the rope that acted like beads - animal skulls threaded through the vacant eye sockets, deer and smaller creatures. They were erected and spread out -

"You do not have totems?" Eh'Koh asked as though Weston were an idiot, "Or - or crucifixes? People have mentioned those as well, other devices, that towns have used them. We don't have to use the book to deploy them, but we can."

Weston shook his head - you could make them with the book or without? That was interesting -

"How do you keep the monsters away?"

"We kill them before they are a problem." Weston said, "You don't fight them here?"

Eh'Koh nodded, "Of course, but - if you don't get them in time they drain the Font, then they destroy the other buildings, growing bigger and bigger - the totems buy time."

"How big are your monsters?" Weston asked - and Eh'Koh held his hand up big and wide around him -

"Of course it's easier now that we've switched to bows, that we've begun to trust the old ways, but before! Everything was destroyed, we had to start over twice, if it wasn't for the Lore Mistress..."

Eh'Koh gradually switched back to more American vernacular rather than explain each new word - a Lore Mistress was like a historian for oral tradition, a story teller. Weston began to understand more of how they survived, and why they were 'Reverting' so quickly to historical traditions -

"She built the first totem, it acts as a shield, like the Font does. The beasts attack them first, she soaks the bones in the Fountain and chants, makes them from animals killed by our hunters. The beasts think it's a Font. They don't all attack the Font all at once, and if they make it through and destroy the totem they do not grow more fierce.

Weston nodded - different ideas, pulled from a different culture - but why it worked?

Other buildings were different as well - but what surprised Weston the most was the bows, it was a missing link, he realized - a hint -

He'd noticed the bows, they were obvious - and a smart way to save ammunition. It made sense that they were thinking to the future, as he was. He hadn't thought of bows because they just weren't powerful enough to stop the creatures, that had been an obvious assumption, how could they be compared to a gun? They weren't fast enough - penetrable enough -

It was obvious he was wrong - guns were absent -

The way Eh'Koh mentioned the bows made it sound like they were superior to firearms - now why was that? That it had gotten better, easier - after they'd started using them.

Weston both felt the glee - the adventure, and the discovery. Only miles from home, just a month of time difference and he was learning things, exploring a new world - a new people. Divergent -

The Chapel had a large V shaped entrance that almost resembled rib bones, there was a hung rug shading the entrance, but not to keep people out. It was a geometric design of bright colors - tribal patterns, and Weston realized this was likely their flag, though it wasn't a rectangle, it was orange and black -

The foyer, the Throne Room was equally structured, abrupt and continued the bone motif of the totems, it had a sturdiness to it, and the room was decorated in fine rope threaded along the jutting edges. More animal bones, beads.

It gave the appearance of a rigid power structure endlessly tied together in a complex weave, May would have loved it - but all that was just a glance, more importantly were the people -

There was a 'Court' of them, natives mingling within the space, perhaps called in as Weston waited, or perhaps they had already been there - dressed variously in the trappings of their mixed tribal garb and previous positions in society. Weston saw a man dressed clearly as a farmer, another, a baker with a clearly harried expression, but most appeared to be consultants, advisors.

Of course the entire Throne Room was necessitated to the center, to the Seat of Power - the Chief. He rested like a proud falcon in his nest, he wore no crown but red feathers accented him while pelts of fur cushioned his seat -

The man was middle aged, his hair shaved down the center, two short, tight braids rose up off the side of his head almost like wide horns - he would have looked ridiculous anywhere else - but on a Throne, in a stronghold, he appeared more like a living talisman of these peoples beliefs - embodying the 'Vibe' of the Chapel which was one of Reverence - different then Red Hills simplistic open welcome and Covanger Fields traditional elegance.

Weston realized just how out of his depth he was - he was truly shooting from the hip, he had expected, well - he hadn't expected anything, and perhaps he should have been more prepared but Jared had been such a disappointment of a man, and since he wasn't here to fight...

There wasn't set rules for how to interact - but he could feel this wasn't just business, you didn't approach this man, this Chief and just shake his hand. Eh'Koh - he was just a runner it appeared, a messenger - somebody the Chief had dispatched, perhaps trusted enough to not embarrass - but not anybody important.

It could be seen as an insult -

Weston watched as Eh'Koh approached and knelt before the Chief, dropping down on one knee, then stood back up, approached and leaned down to speak softly - Weston briefly examined his environment more throughly looking for hints on how to proceed -

The people seemed attentive and unafraid, Weston assumed the Lore Mistress was the elderly woman who sat on a small bench smoking a pipe and grinning, clacking bracelets of bone applauded every time she raised the pipe to her lips. She was the only other person at full ease besides the Chief, the only person that seemed completely comfortable -

What occurred to Weston, following his earlier reasoning, and the tribal totems - he reevaluated the most obvious tribal wear, he'd put money on it that at least some of it worked like his shirt that May had made or Hickory's belt. That was the only reason he could think that they'd go all in so quickly, there had to be an incentive - it looked uncomfortable.

Eh'Koh finished speaking to the Chief who nodded, then ran off to the side - far behind the warriors. Weston turned to the other groups - women, business men, there was even an entertainer with various instruments laid against a wall - though he was quiet just now, adjusting pegs on an unusual guitar habitually as he watched, curious.

The Chief weighed Weston - looked over Gage and Hunter, and then back to Weston. He was thinking, deciding what to do as well - Weston felt the same sort of unsure ignorance coming from the man he experienced - how do we proceed?

Who speaks first? What is the ceremony for such things? How will I be perceived as a person, as a leader - if anything Weston had it easiest - if he fucked up they could send a different diplomat. With what he learned, try again. The Chief only had one shot to make a first impression, and his court was watching...

Weston realized the longer time passed, perhaps the longer the Chief thought - the more...he could think of? Weston made his move - gave a generous nod, because the last thing he needed was for the Chief to ask him to kneel as Eh'Koh had done.

Weston wouldn't -

"Greetings, Chief, I am Weston of Red Hills, accompanied by Tradesman Hunter, and Adjutant Gage. I have come to introduce our land and open neighborly discourse, to share gifts and knowledge and respect with your tribe."

The Chief blinked - looked carefully at Weston with a discerning eye. Weston knew he had been right to interrupt the man's thoughts. That while the Chief looked prepared to fight, willing to fight, Weston could sense he ruled with shrewdness over violence and wealth by how he spent more time analyzing Weston than weighing Gage - the obvious fighter, or curiously peering at Hunter's bundle of treasures.

"Would the Chief allow me to present some tokens of gratitude for welcoming us into his domain?" Weston nodded modestly to the wood chest in Gage's arms -

"Your respect and gifts are appreciated." The Chief said waving an arm, and Weston saw him use the motion to give his throne two soft thunks with his fist, noticed movement behind him - "But let me return your salutations first, I am Chief Show'Me'Kah'See of the Tribe. I welcome you to our lands on your mission of benevolence. Tell me of your people."

"Our people are peaceful and working toward prosperity - us three are Friends of the Fontiff, we went to school together. He is a a young and brave man who sees wisdom in having many friends, who fights daily to keep his people safe. People who live within his land willingly and gratefully, thankful for the safety his prowess allows. He hopes to build relationships with his neighbors but also - 'To mind his own business."

The Chief weighed that - and Weston thought it had sounded foolish at first, when Hickory had insisted that was the only message - his message. His diplomatic policy - if Weston was going to be representing Red Hills on his behalf.

In fact it was now in one of the books located within the Embassy. A whole book with one page stating - 'Mind your own business."

The Embassy Expansion hadn't been what Weston was hoping. It was sparse right now - the opposite shelf of Red Hills policy contained another book, titled Covanger Fields. Perhaps, two now? Perhaps The Tribe rests next to it, or perhaps he had to come back alive first (Weston had somebody inside watching just for this reason).

In the Covanger Fields book it listed facts: resources, maps and other general information gleaned from formal interactions with Pierson in his Diplomatic Capacity - it referred the town as a Neutral Settlement on the first page and listed Fontiff Pierson, additional pages with details of the settlement -

What structures they had in Covanger Fields, what sort of resources (Labor and Fertile Land, Mining Deposits.) the book somehow knew, when Weston was interacting in the capacity of a Diplomat or as a Covanger Heir, it didn't reveal all their secrets, or perhaps it was only because Weston didn't want those things in the book - they were learning, every day, learning -

"We represent Hickory, who goes by name alone." The name Hickory caused the Chief to contemplate, perhaps it had relevance? - "And there is so much to share - that I could speak all day, of how we've fought and closed incursions, how we've begun to learn the strange ways to empower our fighting, how the buildings can produce marvels and measure progress. We have found the bounty of the Red River, in fish that we stew and smoke for the winter. It has fed us lavishly, but we are still growing, like our new orchards, to full resource security - "

The Chief grinned at this - but seemed unimpressed, a cautious man -

"But there's so much we're still looking for, so much we still need to accomplish, that the gifts we bring may demonstrate our commitment not just in our own prosperity, but sharing ways to improve all human lives in this fight against evil, ways to learn from each other." Weston said, "That we also invite, to safely escort a delegation to experience it for themselves, any members of the Tribe to see and evaluate our civilization independently and freely - to meet our leader and people and also be welcomed in our home."

The Chief nodded and Weston felt the man relaxing, heard movements and mutterings but ignored them - focusing still on the Chief's demeanor. Weston had given no rousing speech, it was designed to be tempting - entertain us, share with us, work together to prosper. Don't kill me - Weston didn't brag, not yet, though he felt he could have and it also would have been fitting - The bragging was in the gift, of course - the women had chosen and therefore...

"Welcome, then, Weston of Red Hills. Come closer - so we may speak easily, and let us exchange gifts as neighbors."

Not friends -

Weston approached again, ten feet - to the edge of the raised platform, the single step that separated the throne's perch from the ground. Weston nodded again when he stopped - Hunter bowed more obsequiously and Gage did kneel, to Weston - holding the chest up like the Ark - Weston would suffer for that later, he know -

Impressions and gravitas was valuable - that Gage had a sturdiness and strength, a confidence that grew by the day and was already announced as a man of rank. That he understood - Weston's role, his public needs. That for him to appear subservient in such grandiose manner, from such a stoic and hard man - in front of Weston's family. In front of these strangers -

It added to Weston's credibility and presence - that only Weston and friends knew they were equals - Such things had to be balanced which meant when they weren't in public...

Weston opened the box of smooth wood. A design of fish chasing the moon burnt into it, it was humble. But hand made and sturdy and not just wrapping paper...Weston grasped the first treasure and raised it -

"Seeds. To show a desire for our people to grow from this moment - that the seeds of friendship must be planted and tended. We've also brought saplings of some fruit bearing varieties we've been able to start - the peach, the plum, and the nectarine, so that our relationship may be sweet and bountiful."

Weston held up the fine box with glass walls to reveal the contents, cut windows that framed the kernels that promised a healthy diet. There was a whisper of appreciation by the court, easy nods.

"An Elixir of Defense - because having a friend at your back when the world is filled with the unknown is both safer and refreshing."

It was an old perfume bottle with Chase's best efforts so far - they had to figure out glass blowing, and how to make bottles that didn't look like giant cloudy turds...

"A bolt of fabric - spun beneath the Catcher's Moon, filled with hope and promise for a better world to dawn, so you may see what we are and make of it what you will.

There was a gasp as Weston unrolled the fabric and even if it wasn't as impressive as what May had accomplished, refused to part with - everything from that night had been special -

The fabric appeared to be a stolid pale blue but as it moved it looked like stars reflected on the rippling river. It was smooth and comforting and clearly enchanting -

"And knowledge." Weston said, revealing what appeared to be his most generous gift of all - that wasn't truly generous. Word would spread - that was obvious, places would find out secrets. That was the way Red Hills was set up, they weren't hoarding information, they were too decentralized for it -

But by giving it before? By offering it unasked? Not in trade?

"Within are the ways we've upgraded our school - so the people of the Tribe may prosper and grow stronger. We include the ways we unlocked special buildings, and my own musings on the strange powers, though what I have written on them remains unverified."

Even the Chief seemed impressed with this, didn't bother hiding it. Curiosity was a good trait in a leader - Weston wasn't sure if the Chief had connected how the buildings were being unlocked, but he didn't seem as surprised by Weston mentioning it - The Chief received a bundle from the Lore Mistress warily, she waved both hands at him - a go on - informal encouragement that demonstrated, in a way, her power.

That the Chief took no offense to her familiar motion, how casual it was, gave Weston further hope - the Chief was proud, but not too proud - perhaps they could get along well, if not easily?

"We are pleased with your gifts, Weston of Red Hills." The Chief said, his fingers making quick work of the buckskin knots - "And would return a gift in kind. That we are a cautious people, a people rediscovering themselves after generations of loss, a people that have found rebirth in the tribulations against the shadow that challenges us."

There was a murmur of agreement - and Weston realized he didn't have the entire scope of the room, that behind him were the warriors...

"Friendship...? Our people know one result of such words, we have already lived that life, that existence." The Chief looked serious, distant, not insulted or angry, but - "And there will be those that think it is folly to entertain it again. As we stand here speaking your language, as we suffer to reclaim our words, our traditions. Traditions that keep us safe and empower our own prosperity unlike the violent weaponry that conquered us."

Weston gave an acknowledging nod, but kept his face strictly unapologetic. He knew there would be a chance of retained hostility - it was why he came here first, of course, if there were to be hostilities then sooner was better in his mind, while they were still strong, had plenty of ammunition and fuel - he had been prepared for the Tribe to be aggressive, distrusting, even dangerous - but this wasn't Covanger land.

Even if they had been brutal, they could have coexisted, that wasn't off the table as long as they directed that violence toward the shadows? Perhaps brutality could also be a tradable resource?

It was of his mind that the past had been buried - it was to the Tribe to decide to dig it up.

The Chief's hands unwrapped the leather, and Weston felt the world shift again -

"Therefore it is fitting to gift you a bow." Weston nearly gasped - because the bow was incredible, was - not only made entirely of what had to be bone, but the bone was rippling. Glowing with a strange power that wasn't coming from the Chief, was in the bow itself - "That it will be a tight line - that there will be tension between our people, that many will have to bend their hearts to understand that a second chance may be necessary in this war on even a greater evil."

The Chief held up the bow, and Weston wondered how it was made, how to bend bone and to carve it - how had they advanced to making magic weapons in only a month - and be able to give one away - there were three magic clothing items, Hickory's belt. Hunter's sack, and Weston's shirt...

Could his shirt even defend against such a weapon?

The Chief looked down and admired the weapon, running his hands knowingly over it's curves and carvings -

"We are just a skeleton of what we were, but from those bones come new purpose, new strength. That a bow goes easy to war, can loose flying death on silent wing and kill - " The Chief pulled back the string, an arrow already fitted, the speed was incredible - Gage stepped in front, Weston knew he'd just swallowed the mouthful of elixir he'd kept behind his silent, closed lips -

The Chief relaxed his aim, his hands spinning, holding the bow now like a saw, he spun the arrow through the string so it wrapped a tight loop, - "More difficult is to use a bow to build a fire. It takes more time, more work - patience."

The Chief moved the bow back and forth, the arrow held against the armrest of his throne, and Weston watched the stone arrow begin to dull, slowly, worn away - also the small wisps of smoke that emerged from the created friction -

Oh this man is clever, or - or his Lore Mistress is. The message was so poignant - he obviously saw value in a relationship, saw it as important. He obviously had people that disagreed, wanted petty revenge, maybe war - this man satisfied all parties, and came off as a Chief -

"It all depends on how it is handled." The Chief finished, the arrow now sporting a dull face - but still an arrow, could still kill - still be fired...

The Chief held the bow out and an attendant hurried up to retrieve it, to retie the strings, then presented it to Weston who took it with an impressed and grateful smile - with thanks instead of the applause he wanted to share.

The Chief stood up - not an imposing man, but Weston saw the cleverness sparkle once more, saw that he knew what he'd done, perhaps even relished in it -

"Now we'll eat together, talk further on this delegation. You have more men - bring them in, I guarantee your safety and I want to hear more of your settlement and how you've made that cloth...it's my anniversary in a month, my wife already has a bow."

The crowd chuckled, even the warriors - and Weston breathed as the air of formality finally dispersed and it became more similar to a business luncheon. The court moved not to Weston but to Hunter, the warriors toward Gage, strutting - there would be food and conversation, then hopefully, trade -

Cloth and Seeds and Marbles - it didn't get more basic then that, certainly. And if it wasn't perfect? If it wasn't all smiles and handshakes? That in itself was perhaps good, it meant they weren't being completely disingenuous - that perhaps to show the threat of violence - so openly, was indeed the most promising sign of friendship, that respect could grow from disagreement as it had bloomed after Hickory and his own animosity.

Weston learned more and more, that just being there revealed, if not secrets, at least undiscovered knowledge. New ways of thinking. Weston followed the party to a side chamber and into an open room where a large wood table made of a tree split in half, rough lumber - stools. Food was already being placed on it - they definitely weren't starving -

A salad of wild plants, dandelion the only one he recognized, garnished with black berries. There were potatoes, mushrooms and wild onions delicately prepared in various displays of mouth watering magnificence. A platter of fowl, smaller than chickens stuffed with grains. There was a dish of unknown dark meets, chilled with sweet sauces that made them delicate, almost a vulgar desert because of the gaminess. A whole haunch of a deer was sliced away from the bone in fat steaks, it had been spit roasted and smelled of rosemary - there were bitter pancakes that were likely acorn, and Weston thought he didn't like them until he saw the others -

They took the sliced sweet meats and laid it on top, ate it similarly to a taco and it became a safari of flavor, the wildness of the cuts diminished by the bitterness of the cake and just the sweetness of the garnish to wrap all the flavor into the satisfying star of the meal -

Of course Weston tried everything - knew the importance food was to any culture, made sure to ask small questions, to compliment honestly and directly, to keep business off the table and instead indulged in friendly banter, the weather, and future ideas and promises, missed treasures such as a favorite snack, peanut M&M's for the Chief - That would be in the Embassy now.

But what Weston was truly doing - was not being political. He was Red Hills here, not Weston. He was a strong neighbor, wealthy, growing, perhaps even prosperous? And he was also hungry -

He hoped every neighbor could be as rewarding - right now Chase would say he was batting average. 50/50. To keep his eye on the ball. They invited them to stay the night, to rest - provided a private house for the three, another for the 'troops'. Weston was disappointed in an almost humorous manner that it hadn't been a teepee, that it didn't stop them from playing a bit of Cowboys and Indians while Hunter was out trading glass beads?

"Weston! Weston!" Hunter shouted before banging on the door as Gage scrambled for weapons - running, throwing open the door Weston pulled him in, expecting him to be chased by a mob - "Were you in the shower?"

Weston glared, "He's fine!"

"Do you have a trailer hitch? They have a fan boat! Hickory's gonna shit if we can get it going!"

Weston nodded -

"And guess what the Chief's name means - "

Weston glanced, but by the absolute glee in Hunter's eyes, that it could only be one thing - "No." Weston said, shaking his head, "No, Coyote? Are you fucking serious, you can't tell him -"

"Get this..." Hunter said, and his face became deadly serious, Hickory's same expression - as he looked up at Weston with wide, innocent eyes, "It can also mean fox."

Of course that would be worse...

Weston heard Gage hit the floor laughing as Hunter squeezed passed him, chanting - "Hey! How! Are! You! Hey! How! Are! You!" in an obvious racist Native American tribal chant -

Then Weston started laughing, too - because why the fuck not? Life was good.

"I don't even know what to expect." Weston said, gasping - "It's like - thank God we didn't gift them chickens - "

"I know!" Hunter shouted, "I was just about to propose a trade contract and I got curious and now - I mean, I want to just think it's not going to matter. That Hickory knows it's just a name."

"At least he didn't choose that trap flag, I don't know what May was thinking, it looked like a noose."

Weston rolled his eyes -

"Did anybody bring beer? They didn't offer us any, and they're -"

"You didn't ask!"

"What? Of course, Weston, stop being racist if it's not a joke. They're out, they want to trade for what we have, but I'm not selling them everything and going dry myself. Look what I did get, though."

Hunter dumped out a giant sack -

"Poker chips!" Gage shouted, "Fuck yeah!"

"I'm building a casino."