The seaside is warm with fragrant grass upon the shore. Longships glide through the waves, and encampments stand at the riverside. Hundreds of warriors cheer and shout, while two leaders sit facing each other, drinking together. Priest Tomate finishes a cup of blood wine and laughs heartily.
"Good, refreshing! Moqi, my brother, what you want, I can give it to you in the future! The Kingdom provides you with god-given weapons and equipment, and you provide skilled warriors to the Kingdom! Together, we can sweep through the Maya Tribes of the Northern Land!"
Hearing this, Chieftain Moqi's eyes flickered. He reached out friendly, grasping Priest Tomate's arm, looking him in the eye, and spoke earnestly.
"Xulucumul! We Putun people, 'live under trees amid ashes and poverty.' Life is always hard; we can only see what's in front, unable to think too far ahead... Brother Tomate, there are many weapons on your ships, and many warriors in our tribe. Let's trade now, before you leave!"
