The cold breeze of the early spring spread throughout the fresh North American air. Berengar stood in a watchtower that had been established within his frontier fortress, breathing it in with a broad smile on his face. This bountiful land had yet to be tainted by the stain of industry or the changes brought forth by advanced agriculture.
Though these things were necessary for societal advancement, there was something beautiful in the primal nature of the North American landscape. As he gazed upon his surroundings with awe, he noticed the approach of a group of natives. As the young king witnessed this sight, a smirk appeared on his princely face. The local tribes had finally showed themselves to him and his host.
