Hoshor Plains the long black train

The man continued to work the earth, imparting his scent. It was clear to Mojag that he was trying to claim some part of the plains; then he explained he was not about to hunt the bison, he was in pursuit of a home for himself and his wife. This made sense given the season.

The name of the place he wished to form was not so odd to Mojag, and he accepted that he might be standing where this Yellowstone village was to stand, one day. There is an odd tone to the man's voice though—something he'd heard from other adults when he was a boy, when he used to investigate the village limits and find one of them intercepting a stranger.

A warning.

Mojag chose not to take offense.

I have lived among these bison for a while, he went on to explain, although it was not something the man asked of him. I am from Moontide, originally. The moon villages control much of the land in this valley—and they recently joined together for a hunt of these bison. It was a great feast.

He looked to the distant shapes with a mixture of awe and appreciation; then he looked to the well-built man, not afraid to match his gaze or to show his confidence. My name is Mojag.