The incessant drizzle fell from the sky, dampening the flags that stood tall, and landing on the fortresses of polished blue stone. The raindrops meandered down the smooth stone, hardened by many washings, difficult to ascend. They then merged into the rushing Lerma River, gliding past the small boats on the water.
At the mouth of the river near the Tarasco's fortress, a hundred meters away, several small Mexica boats were swaying and probing. This was the daily reconnaissance of the northern enemy, a routine the defending army had grown accustomed to.
Xiulote stood alone at the prow, attentively observing the layout of the rivermouth fortress.