The sea breeze was blowing mightily, and the hair was fluttering messily. Neither of the two people in front of the bonfire spoke.

The old militiaman Chihuaco lowered his head, lost in the memories he thought he had forgotten. And the tattooed Chippawa gritted his teeth and grabbed the dirt with his hands like a wolf. He had just learned of his mother's death and his sister's life. He had expected a lot, and the answer now was far better than his worst estimate. But at this moment, he was still roaring lowly, with pained eyes streaming down his eyes.

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