El Fundador (90% DIRECT)

Two more years passed. Others came—a runaway soldier, a widower with three children, a shepherd who had lost his flock. They built huts of mud and thatch. They raised a wooden cross on the spot where Alonso had first knelt.

The governor's hand hovered over his sword. The scribe's quill trembled. For a long moment, no one breathed.

Alonso looked at the governor. Then he looked at his people. He thought of the first year, the cave, the roots, the fish, the tree he had carved. He thought of Huara's hand on his chest. El Fundador

"And yet," Alonso replied, "people pray beneath it."

"I have a name," he said. "They call me El Fundador. And you cannot void what is already founded." Two more years passed

He had founded something, after all. Not a city. A beginning.

"You were granted a charter twelve years ago. You were ordered to found a villa —a town with a church, a plaza, a granary, and a census. Where is the church?" They raised a wooden cross on the spot

"What will you name her?" Huara asked.