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"You there!" the captain shouted, "I want you to find that puppet, and whoever is responsible!"
The Cuahuatl sighed. "Why don't you go do it yourself? I bet you don't even dare!"
"You'll take that back," grumbled the captain.
"Sir, I challenge you to a duel. Sticks, three hits win, loser goes for the puppet."
"Fine. You know I can't refuse anyway."

The Cuahuatl danced around each other, occasionally slashing or stabbing to their opponent, whenever they saw an opening. For 15 minutes had they been fighting now, and none of them had been able to hit the other. But the younger of the two grew tired, and when he stepped back to dodge a blow, he hit a stone and stumbled. He rolled backwards and stood up before the captain could reach him, but the captain saw he was hobbled when he got closer again. The captain wanted to strike him on the side while he couldn't dodge, but the other parried and delivered a powerful counterblow to the captain's head. The captain, bleeding from a nasty gap in the head, jumped up, and before the other could react, the stick hit him full force in the stomach, and when he doubled over, once more on each side.

Defeated, he limped to the huts and packed his weapon and some rations. The fout would heal soon enough, and the captain had had worse than the head wound, so that same day he set off.

Running trough the old riverbed in the mountains, following the footsteps of the little puppet in the mud, he quickly reached the hills. While he traveled further along a now fierce river, he rethought what had happened. A single puppet had come to their garrison, and when he attacked, dozens more appeared. The others were apparently ghosts of some sort, as his brothers in arms could smash their clubs right trough them, and once the puppet had been beaten, it fled and the ghosts disappeared. A thick mist had engulfed the pass, and it was far too dangerous to pursue the puppet at that moment, but now it had cleared, and he was on his way.

After a few weeks, a village became visible. He approached it cautiously, but when he entered, he was suddenly surrounded by several weird-looking guards. At first, they only laughed and didn't tell him where the puppet was, but when he grabbed and threatened one, it became more serious and told him they had destroyed the puppet, and that it was a misunderstanding.

He was led for their king, who gave him a letter for Axayacoloc, and soon, diplomats were visiting the Jester Race and peace threaties were exchanged.

"So, I heard you're worried about your brother?"
"But... Axayacoloc-Coatl, that is not important to you at all... You shouldn't worry about the lives of lesser beings" the priest murmured.
"Tell me what's wrong, my young padawan disciple. What is his art?"
"He's a mason, Coatl, and a good one, too, but he spends so much time making those weird... mechanics."
"Mechanics?"
"Yes Coatl, he made it so that the door to our house glides open as if it were nothing, a massive granite block, and it uses all those gears and weights and so... He doesn't do what a real Cuahuatl should do..."
"How old is he?"
"12. It's the only one that failed his test this year."
"Let him come here. I will start his training today."
"As you wish, Axayacoloc-Coatl"

The story of the scout that returned from the volcano went trough the village in a few days, and voices were raised to move near the mountain, as the ground was fertile and there was a rainforest with lots of animal life for hunting, some said twice as much as here. Axayacoloc didn't believe those stories, but he wanted the best for his people, and it was with his blessing that a group of brave settlers went south, over the mountain, to start a new village.


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