The red sun sank behind the Western Mountains as dark clouds drifted in from the East. It was clear that another heavy rain was imminent. August marked the peak of the Highland rainy season, where the rain came unbidden, and sunny days were few, making large-scale military operations difficult. August was also a busy farming season, with early squash nearing harvest. For the sake of making a living, the populations of each tribe were occupied in the fields and could not participate in military mobilization.
All in all, in the chaotic, war-torn world of Central America, August, as hot as fire, was a rare month of peace. At least, it had been so for millennia.
"Nashu, what day is it today?"
Xiulote sat cross-legged on the carpet of the Stone Hall. He drank a bowl of sweet pumpkin soup and gnawed on two pieces of soft cornbread. Then, he peeled a newly boiled turkey egg, savoring the familiar yet rare taste of eggs, and exhaled contentedly, his mind filled with a certain nostalgia.
