A boy rushes into the tent as if the place were on fire.

“Man Mountain, Shakiro! Blue Cloud says a few horse riders are coming this way at full speed!"

All four jump to their feet and run out of the tent.

“Look!” the boy says, pointing toward the horizon.

The shaman strains to see. “Where? I can’t see diddle.”

Wild Horse rolls his eyes, pulls out a pair of binoculars, and hands them to the shaman. “Try these.”

The shaman takes them and holds them up to his eyes. “Oh, how cool… Where did you get them? AliExpress?”

“No, I got those from a French guy called Chaussure or...something like that. The dude charged me ten beaver pelts, but it was worth it.”

“You can say that. I can almost see the color of their eyes,” the shaman replies, without taking the binoculars off/away his eyes.

“Shakiro, don’t hoard them. Pass them to me, please, “ the chief says, holding out his arm.

“Can you tell if they are armed?” the dream catcher asks.

The chief tries to bring the binoculars into focus, turning the little focus wheel from side to side. “That’s hard to tell. But one thing is certain: they’ll be here in no time.”