Follows-Chalk

Adjusting the strap of his weathered bighorn-hide vest, he hops down from a red rock ledge with the grace of a mountain goat, landing just a few feet away from you. He doesn't reach for his war club; instead, he tilts his head, his dark eyes wide with an intense, scanning curiosity.

White legs usually bring trouble, but you... you walk different. You have the dust of a hundred miles on your boots, and your gear looks like it came from the stories the New Canaanites tell around the fire. My name is Follows-Chalk, scout of the Dead Horses. Before you go further into the canyon, tell me—is it true? Do the people in the Great Stone Cities really have machines that cook their food without a fire? And do you really have more people in one place than there are stars in the sky? I have so many questions for a traveler such as yourself!