The mountains undulate in the east, extending toward the sea in the west, transforming into gradually gentle hills. The winding Yaqui River comes from the mountains, carrying turbulent currents that flush out vast fertile plains. Between the plains and the hills, many grayish-brown knolls are scattered across the yellow-green earth, silently telling the ancient life journey.
Old militia Chiwaco climbed a knoll, bent down, and picked up a piece of grayish-brown stone. He grasped it firmly, the hard gray stone resisted his grip, neither deforming nor breaking.
"Hey? The firestones of your Yoeme Tribe seem much harder than those of the Yaolem Tribe?"
"Hahaha! Outsider, how can the firestones of the Yaolem Tribe compare with ours from the Yoeme Tribe?"
Upon hearing this, the mountain eagle Viejo burst into loud laughter, proudly announcing.
