Their spies had brought news that a civil war was inevitable, it was the perfect moment to start planning their invasion.

Speaking in their name, was Ashun Dagfuur, Feather of the Red Lion tribe, temporarily appointed as High Feather, first among equals and spokesman of the tribes. He was a tall man, around 1.84 meters (6′) high, with a lean and muscular body, an olive complexion and a long but well-groomed beard.

Like all the Feathers, he wore heavy white pants and shirt to endure the coldness of the night, and a turban on his head, with a huge ruby on its centre to represent his status in the tribe.

The meeting was held in a ceremonial tent, golden in colour whose sides and floor were covered by carpets and tapestries depicting the collective history of the desert.

The roof of the tent was enchanted to be able to turn invisible at will, since the Benefactor hated constricted spaces, and this way was still able to gaze at the moon and the stars.

The space was perfectly lighted by twenty-seven black iron braziers, one for each tribe. Their fires were fueled by the magic of their respective Feather, used both to symbolize his strength and vote once a discussion had come to an end.

As always, Ashun spoke with passion, describing all the green lands and water springs, waiting for tribes to seize them from the weak and stupid plainsmen. His black eyes searched for the other Feather’s approval and support, but he found none.