Chatterbox: Inkwell

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Hey, everybuggy. This is part of a story I wrote several months ago. I would love feedback as I tend to be - uh, biased - when I read my own stories. (Obviously.) Anyway, please let me know what y'all think! Here goes...

-Emily

This was not their world. Their world was rolling plains, endless miles of grass. Except that there was an end, and they had found it. The travelers were weary, their tall shoulders bowed low. Still they rose to the challenge before them, the challenge of the mountains.

Five moons they had followed the setting sun, pursuing the quest set by their chief. To see the Great Water, spoken of by the tribes they traded with, or never return.

The second choice seemed likely. The mountains were capped with snow and larger than any seen by their braves. But their leader said they had no choice, and they followed him.

He had risked his life time and again to keep them safe and would do so again. They followed the setting sun as they had followed many suns before this, but this time to a column of smoke rising from the foothills.

It was not long before the plains dwellers stepped out of the trees into a small clearing. There was a man between them and the fire. "Greetings, travelers," he said in their language. "You have been awaited." Then he raised one hand in the salute of his tribe. "What is your quest?"