Dawn broke over the city gates. Earthshaker, long retired, was decked out in full battle armor—a rare sight these days. He leaned heavily against a Totem Pole, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the distant horizon of the main road.
"Old Chieftain, the Prince won't be here until this afternoon," Ol' Two-Horns said. "Wanna head inside and catch some shut-eye? Or maybe find a distraction?"
Out of all the Buffalofolk, Ol' Two-Horns was the luckiest bastard alive. He was the only one of Earthshaker's old brothers-in-arms to survive the bloodbaths. Since Earthshaker hung up his axe, the two had been inseparable—drinking, chasing women, and shooting the breeze with zero filter.
"Inside? Distractions?" Earthshaker scoffed. "We've painted every inch of Buffalo Bastion red. There's nothing left in there to see. Isn't it better to wait out here and pay our respects to a Prince of the Stoneheart Horde?"
