Recently, two of our 7th grade students approached me about writing a story for their 1st grade buddies…Here is the result.
A not-so-brief history of the Northern Mou and their stolen treasure
by Mazy and Sofia
Once upon a time, there was a young Mou called Peter who was given a great responsibility. A long time, when even your great great grandfather wasn’t even thought of, all Mous lived together in peace. They worshiped the Holy Utensils of Wisdom, the Silver Spoon, the Pink Knife, and the Golden Fork. Then one day chaos fell, for the Pink Knife was stolen by a group of Gnaffles from New Hampshire (but that’s another story).
After the Knife was stolen, the Mou empire split in two, the Southern Mou with the Golden Fork and the Northern Mou with the Silver Spoon. Eventually the Southern Mous became greedy and they wanted all the power for themselves. So, in the dead of night they snuck into the Northern
Mou’s sacred gazebo and stole the Silver Spoon!
From then on a Northern Mou had been chosen to atempt to retrieve their holy item; but none have succeeded.
One cloudy day on top of Mount Floof in Maine, Peter was chosen to search for the Spoon. Peter was a timid Mou and reluctant to to take the task, but was determined to be the first to return glorious. And so his journey began.
Peter started off his quest by wading over the murky bogs of Mawow, then scrambling up the treacherous mountain range of Cadougal, finally reaching the most difficult, dangerous, and terrifying leg of his journey, passing over the BigBadDeathCliff!
As Peter stood on the edge of the cliff, admiring the view, a small, delicately, fluffy feather drifted down from the heavens. He reached out a tiny paw to grab it and, whoosh!! The wind carried him off the cliff and into open air! Peter soared through the empty sky dreaming of bouncing on the cotton candy clouds, but suddenly the realization struck him: He was falling, and falling fast!
A golden blur shot out down from the wisps of cloud far above Peter. It was a huge eagle! His savior, Charlie, was a kind eagle with only best interests at heart. He had seen Peter fall and had rushed to save him. Peter told Charlie about his quest and Charlie instantly agreed to help out. So, Charlie and Peter traveled for many day over towering mountain, rolling hills, rocky shores, and raging rivers.
At long last their time together came to end. Charlie left Peter on the edge of the Southern Mou territory and, after saying a sad goodbye, gave him a conch shell, telling him to blow it when he needed to return. Charlie took off and flew into the sunrise; Peter had just begun the last part of his journey.
After several hours of walking through a spikey plants that pricked his fur and goopy mud that covered the ground, Peter finally began to see the lights of a Southern Mou village further along the trail. Edging across the ground, Peter came up behind a big, green bush so he wouldn’t be seen. Peering through the thicket of leaves, he began to see the Mous’ town. It was a small village along the perimeter of the central town where the Silver Spoon was kept.
Just then a small squad of four Southern Mous began to walk towards Peter’s hiding place. Peter held his breath, but as they approached him, he began to hear their conversation. “I’m headed back to the center around nightfall; is anyone on shift this evening?” asked one Mou.
“Sorry Jerry, my supervisor told me I had to guard the village tonight,” said another.
“Oh well,” said the one called Jerry, “I suppose I’m alone tonight.” He jangled his keys, turned to leave, and Peter saw his chance. He waited patiently until the other Mous had disappeared into the darkness and then disguised himself as a Southern Mou and crept into the village, where most Mous were cozy in their borrows. Peter then began tracking Jerry through the woods to the biggest mound of dirt and rock and crystals he had ever seen. A sign was hung crookedly over a small doorway and it read “THE DEEPS!”
Peter took a long, slow breath and stepped down onto the first stone step leading down into darkness. As he proceeded downward, the light got dimmer and the air colder. There were several times when Peter had to hide behind a rock or dart into the entrance to another passage to avoid being caught by a guard. When he reached the end of the stairs, he found a long, dark, hallway, barely lit by flickering blue lights that he couldn’t identify the source of. The tunnel seemed to go on forever. When he finally arrived at the end, he was tired and out of breath, but he didn’t care—he was so close to achieving his quest. He rounded the last bend and found himself face-to-face with Jerry, the Southern Mou.
“ Why are you here?” asked Jerry, “You are not a Southern Mou.”
“No I’m not,” Peter replied. “I am a Northern Mou, come to make peace with the tribes.”
Jerry looked rather impressed. “You are going to make peace with the tribes?” He stared at Peter with wide eyes.
“Yes,” answered Peter. “After I take back the Silver Spoon, which is rightfully ours, I will unite the Mou empire, and we will be one again!!” he finished impressively.
“Then I will help you,” said Jerry. “Ever since we split, things have been far worse for all of us, with the Pink Knife stolen and all.”
“Thank you,” said Peter, “I can use all the help I can get. The two Mous made their way into the sacred chamber where the Holy Utensils were kept, and Peter gasped at the beauty of the Silver Spoon, resting on a velvet, purple pillow in a shallow stone basin near the middle of the room. He didn’t even glance at the glittering Golden Fork laying beside it.
Peter reached forward and grasped the handle of the Spoon. He felt as though he was holding the source of all warmth and happiness and if he failed to return it to his tribe, darkness would fall forever.
“Quick!” said Jerry, “I hear someone coming. We have to go! I don’t know my way around very well, but I am sure this is the way out of the Deeps.”
Two hours later the pair finally emerged into the brilliant glare of the setting sun.
Jerry, still uncertain on which direction was north, blew into a small ivory horn to summon an old friend who knew her way around. A short while later, his friend Zoe silently appeared next to Peter, scaring his socks off.
“Hello,” she said in a sweet, melancholy voice.
Peter replied with an awkward, “Hi.”
Jerry, noticing his friend discomfort, snickered, but quickly explained to Zoe how lost he was and what help they needed. Zoe immediately lead the way up the steep path cut into the rocks of the valley surrounding the Southern Mou territory. After a long, weary day of traveling, the trio reached the summit of Mount Pouf, the end of Jerry’s and Zoe’s guidance. Peter blue into his conch shell, calling his friend Charlie, and bid farewell to his new friends.
When Charlie arrived, Peter climbed on and they took off. Peter waved to Zoe and Jerry until he could no longer see them, then turned to face the north.
The journey was very long, and as Charlie flew on, it got colder and colder. Peter snuggled into his friends feathers and fell fast asleep.
Peter awoke to the brilliant sunlight on his face, and watch the ground rush up to meet him. Charlie landed smoothly in the center of the Northern Mous’ marketplace, and Peter hopped off, thanking his fierce looking-friend. He jumped onto a small stage where the mayor usually stood to make announcements and called out an a loud, clear, voice, “ My friends! I have returned from my mission successful!” He made a show out of gathering up his little rucksack and unbuckling the straps. By now the whole Northern Mou tribe had gathered to watch with bated breath as Peter unwrapped his treasure. “Before I show you the Silver Spoon,” he cried, “you will have to promise me to go to the Southern Mous and make peace with them, united as one tribe again! Promise me you will do this.”
“We will!” chorused the other Mous with one voice.
“ Then, I present to you, the Silver Spoon!”
The whole Northern Mou tribe rejoiced as Peter held the spoon high, proud and happy that balance had finally been restored to the Mous’ small world!