The night had fallen heavily, enveloping the mountain forest. Sparse moonlight illuminated the mountain path. In the rugged woodlands, a group of six or seven warriors, without any lit torches, were groping their way forward in darkness. They each carried small bundles on their backs and leaned on sturdy long spears, carefully trekking northward.
"So we just leave like this?"
After a silent march, Chipawa, the youngest of them, eventually couldn't contain himself and asked softly.
Zucata listened to the noises in the forest then continued walking for a while before responding in a low voice.
"What? Do you want to stay behind and surrender to the Mexica?"
"No! How could I possibly!"
Chipawa's eyes widened. Zucata quickly made a gesture for silence, and he hastily lowered his voice.
"The Mexica destroyed my hometown, killed my father... I will never surrender!"
"Hmm, none of us will surrender. Let's keep moving then!"