Outside Iron Flame City, beyond the barrier of the threshold of ten thousand eyes, behind a low hill.
Foster, holding a double-barreled shotgun, lay on a tarpaulin, looking out at the distant situation, while Gregory sat idly on the ground, plucking wild grass.
The wild grass and flowers, with their sharp teeth, bit at his fingers as soon as they left the ground, but his fingernails opened their mouths in turn, starting to bite the plucked wild flowers.
"What are you doing?" Foster asked curiously, turning his head.
The old man thought for a moment, then said seriously, "Lately I've been eating only meat, so I'm replenishing some vitamins."
"Uh, does Hell have this stuff?"
"Look, they're growing so robustly, they probably do, right?"
Gregory was uncertain too. After eating several, he remarked, "Should've brought the sheep over, don't know how they're doing in the Caucasus."
"You raise sheep?"
